“Indeed,” Rye said politely.
A boy with a stick and a girl with a pocketful of stones, he thought as he turned to go. What a fine pair of heroes we are, to be sure!
They began to follow the stream, looking warily left and right. Neither of them spoke. Gradually the sounds of the lizard battle faded away behind them, and at last, all they could hear was the babbling of the water, the bell-like calls of the unseen birds, and their own plodding footsteps.
“I would be dead now, if it weren’t for you,” Sonia said suddenly. “Thank you for — for what you did.”
Rye glanced at her. She was staring straight ahead and frowning, as if the words had been hard to say. No doubt she was annoyed because she had had to be saved.
“I am sure you would have done the same for me,” he murmured, replying to the thanks in the usual Weld fashion, though in Sonia’s case, he was not at all sure of any such thing. For all he knew, she would have left him struggling in the beast’s net.
“Why did you want to leave Weld, Sonia?” he asked abruptly. “Surely being a Keep orphan cannot be so bad? Surely the Warden is kind to you?”
She snorted with mirthless laughter. “The Warden? I have not seen the Warden face-to-face more than three or four times in my life! But that is not the point. I did not leave Weld just because I was unhappy. I left for the same reason you and all the other volunteers did.”
Rye blinked. “You — what?”
“I want to find the Enemy sending the skimmers and destroy him!” snapped Sonia. “I do not see why men only should have the chance to be the Warden’s heir! There now! Have a good laugh at me, if you will!”
She quickened her pace and walked on ahead without waiting for an answer. Rye followed, wondering.
They came to a place where the stream vanished from sight, though they could still hear it gurgling underground. The earth beneath their feet was carpeted in thick green moss. The ferns around them were giants — the trunks tall, straight columns of furry brown, the great emerald fronds arching gracefully overhead making a delicate canopy of living green lace. It was like wandering through a deserted temple.
Never had Rye seen anything so strangely beautiful. Awestruck, he walked on, barely aware of Sonia ahead, lost in a dream of shadowy green.
He had no idea for how long he had walked when, slowly, it came to him that something had changed. It took a moment for him to realize what the change was.
The birdcalls had stopped.
Rye looked around dazedly. The light was dimmer and greener than it had been before. He knew that in the world above, the sun must be going down.
An icy trickle of fear ran down his spine.
“Sonia!” he called in a low voice.
The girl was standing motionless between the trunks of two giant ferns that stood like sentinels not far ahead. She made no sign that she had heard him, but at least she had stopped moving.
Rye ran to catch up with her, blessing the soft moss that muffled the sound of his footsteps. He touched her shoulder, but still she did not turn or speak.
“Sonia, it is sunset!” he hissed, catching at her arm. “Past sunset! The skimmers —”
He broke off as she shivered all over. With astonishment, he saw that her eyes had filled with tears. Then he looked ahead, over her shoulder, and realized why she had stopped and what she was staring at.
Just beyond the two sentinels was a clearing ringed with shadowy fern trunks and open to a brilliant orange sky. Except for the sound of the gurgling water somewhere underground, the clearing was utterly still. In its center was a small round pool, gleaming like a mirror.
Dann’s Mirror … The words floated into Rye’s mind from nowhere. He did not realize he had repeated them aloud until the girl turned to look at him, amazement in her brimming eyes.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
Rye shook his head. He could not explain himself. Pushing past her, he stepped into the clearing and walked the few steps to the pool. He looked down at the glassy surface, and for a brief moment, his reflection floated there, shadowy and mysterious.
Then the water began to ripple. It was as if a pebble had been thrown into the pool or a leaf had fallen. But no stone had been thrown. No leaf marred the dark surface.
The ripples were making a pattern. Rye felt his throat close as he saw a single word appear.
Rye swallowed, staring in fear and disbelief at the word rippling in the water. Sonia was behind him. He could hear her rapid breathing and smell the slime that still clung to her clothes.
But the command was for him. He knew it.
All his life, Rye had been taught never to drink wild water. Wild water carried dirt and disease. Only well water and rainwater were safe, and even they were best boiled before drinking.
He remembered the rule and dismissed it. Without hesitation, he slid the bell tree stick into his belt and dropped to his knees beside the pool.
He felt Sonia plucking at his sleeve, heard her whispering to him urgently, warning him of poison, of enchantment, of danger.
He dipped his cupped hands into the pool, bent his head, and drank.
Never had he tasted such water. It was as different from the water of Weld as bread fresh from the oven is different from stale crusts. Cool, sweet, and clear, it slipped down his dry throat like sparkling nectar, bringing with it instant refreshment and a feeling that he was twice as alive as he had been before.
Eagerly he dipped his hands back into the pool and drank again. And again.
It is enough.
Rye looked up, startled, water dribbling down his chin and soaking into his shirt. Behind him, Sonia gave a small, choking cry.
Hooded figures were peeling from the trunks of the giant ferns that surrounded the clearing. They were brown, like the fern stems, and their long robes were dark brown, too, but as they glided toward the pond, their color began to change to green.
Rye could not move. He could not breathe. Sonia was gripping his arm so tightly that it hurt.
Then the figures were all around them. Rye stared wordlessly up at the ring of smooth green faces — ageless faces, with pointed chins, high cheekbones, and brows that slanted over the dark pools of their eyes. They were male and female, both. He could see that, despite the hoods. Some of the faces were slightly smiling. Others were alive with what looked like curiosity. A few were very grave.
These beings could not be barbarians — surely they could not! They looked nothing like the hulking brutes in pictures Rye had seen. They carried no weapons. And they could change color, to hide themselves, like the monstrous lizards. He had never heard that barbarians could do that.
Who were they, then? And why were they standing here, in the open air, unafraid of sunset and the skimmers?
Rye was suddenly seized by the terrible fear that Dirk, and all the other volunteers who had chosen the golden Door, had made a fatal error. What if the Door had delivered them not into the wilds of Dorne but into another land entirely?
Slowly he felt for the stick in his belt. He had tried to move without being seen, but the instant his fingers touched the smooth wood, the figures around the pool murmured and looked down at his hand.
Rye knew he had to face these beings on his feet, or he and Sonia would have no chance at all. Slowly, trying not to make any sudden moves that might seem like a threat, he stood up, drawing Sonia up with him.
One of the females pulled back her hood. Her skin changed again, fading to pale gold, as gleaming red braids of hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Her companions followed her lead. All of them had the same long braids, and all of the braids flamed in the orange light of the sky.