Rye heard Sonia draw a shuddering breath. He gripped his stick. It was not much of a weapon, but it was all he had.
“What place is this, if you please?” he asked, trying with all his might to keep his voice from trembling.
The strange beings looked at one another, then back at him.
“He seeks to deceive us,” the tallest of the men muttered. “He knows where he is. His companion said the words ‘Fell Zone’ more than once.”
Rye’s stomach fluttered. “I am not trying to deceive you!” he exclaimed. “But I do not understand. If this is the Fell Zone of Dorne, then who are you?”
“Knowledge of us has been lost in the city of Dann, it seems, Kirwan,” the woman who had first removed her hood said softly to the tall man.
As he scowled, she turned to Rye. He felt himself caught and held by her amazing eyes, which now looked more green than brown.
“We are the Fellan,” she said. “We are the tenants of this place your people call the Fell Zone. We have been expecting you.”
Rye gaped at her. Then suddenly his heart leaped, and he felt the blood rush into his face.
“Expecting me?” he gasped. “You mean you met my brother Dirk? He told you I might come? Did he leave a message for me?”
He felt a crushing wave of disappointment as the woman looked surprised, and shook her head.
“We know nothing of those who came before you,” she murmured.
“They came thundering into our territory like storm clouds and vanished just as quickly,” the man called Kirwan said stiffly. “A few reached this place, fell foul of Dann’s Mirror, and fled downstream. The bones of the rest lie under the leaves or in the nets of the fell-dragons.”
Rye’s mind was spinning with disappointment, confusion, and fear. “Then why — how — have you been expecting me?” he stammered.
“We were given three signs by which we would know the one we awaited,” the woman answered calmly. “We did not guess that you would be so young or that you would be one among many, but the signs have all been fulfilled.”
“What does she mean?” Sonia hissed in Rye’s ear. “What signs? Rye — what game have you been playing?”
As the woman’s eyes moved from his face to Sonia’s, Rye felt a little jolt, as if a thread that had been holding him tightly had suddenly snapped.
Desperately he tried to collect his thoughts. He knew full well that he could not be the person the Fellan had been waiting for. Except for Dirk and the other volunteers from Southwall, no one on this side of the Wall of Weld knew of his existence.
Should he tell the Fellan they were wrong, or say nothing? Which would be safer?
“The first two signs were not perfect, Edelle,” Kirwan said.
“Indeed,” another man agreed. “And he took up the barbarian weapon to pursue the fell-dragon.”
“He used it only to cut a dragon net and save his companion,” the woman called Edelle argued. “The iron left him when he needed it no longer. Besides, the test of Dann’s Mirror has made the other signs of no importance. The Mirror knew him. He drank not just once but three times. He is the one.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the pool. Kirwan hesitated, but at last even he reluctantly nodded.
Edelle stepped out of the circle and moved to Rye’s side.
“Say your name, if you please,” she murmured.
“R-Rye,” Rye stammered, startled into speech. “Rye, third son of Lisbeth and Kaz, brother to Dirk and Sholto.”
“Third son,” someone in the circle repeated.
Edelle made no sign that she had heard. She opened her hand and showed Rye the object that had been concealed within it.
It was a small brown bag, its neck drawn tightly closed by a long loop of braided red cord. It looked like one of the charms that some old-fashioned citizens of Weld hung over their doors to ward off evil.
“We were given this in trust for you,” Edelle said. “It contains nine powers to aid you in your quest. We swore to keep it safe and to give it to you when you came to us. In return, you must swear never to tell a living soul how you came by it. Do you so swear?”
Rye went cold. He was caught in a net from which there was no escape. How dearly did he wish that he had stopped this at the very beginning! Now it was too late. He had blundered upon knowledge of a deadly secret. If he told the truth now, he and Sonia would never be allowed to leave this place.
“Do you so swear?” Edelle repeated.
Rye nodded. “Yes,” he croaked. “I swear.”
With the air of one conferring a great honor, Edelle slipped the circle of cord over Rye’s head. He felt the little bag settle onto his chest, and put up his hand to touch it. The bag was faintly warm, and his fingers tingled as they brushed its velvety surface.
Magic … magic that was intended for another.
Rye’s stomach churned. It was all he could do to stop himself from tearing the cord from his neck and thrusting the little bag back at Edelle.
“I thank you,” he made himself say.
Edelle paused, then leaned closer, pretending to straighten the cord at the back of his neck.
“You must make haste,” she breathed close to his ear. “Time is short. It is almost Midsummer Eve.”
“Edelle!” Kirwan’s voice was sharp.
“So our promise has been fulfilled,” Edelle said aloud and stepped back.
The other Fellan seemed to sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Then they all pulled their concealing hoods over their heads and began gliding silently back toward the giant ferns. Avoiding Kirwan’s accusing eyes, Edelle pulled up her own hood and followed.
“Wait!” Sonia cried. “Do not leave us!”
“Be quiet, Sonia!” Rye muttered furiously, but the girl took no notice.
“If you are on our side, you must show us where to go!” she shouted at the Fellan. “You must help us!”
Edelle stopped, but Kirwan put a warning hand on her arm and looked around, frowning. His face was already shadowy green.
“We are on no side,” he said. “By ancient treaty, we do not interfere in the wider affairs of Dorne. We took charge of the gift we have passed to you for the sake of an old friendship, but we can do no more.” He glanced at Edelle, silent beside him. “Already, perhaps, we have done too much.”
He turned away and moved swiftly after the others, drawing Edelle along with him. In moments, they had vanished into the ferns.
Sonia made an impatient sound and threw herself down by the pool. She scooped up a handful of water and carried it to her lips.
The next moment, she was coughing, spluttering, and spitting in disgust.
“Ah, it is foul!” she choked, jumping up and scrubbing her lips with the back of her hand. “Bitter as week-old wine dregs! How could you drink it?”
Rye stared at her, astounded, as she continued to cough and spit. He crouched by the pool himself and took a small, careful sip. The water tasted as sweet and pure as ever.
“I do not understand you,” he said, dipping his hand into the pool again. “I have never tasted better.”
Sonia fell silent. He took a final drink, stood up, and turned to look at her. She was watching him intently — almost fearfully.
“It is the sign,” she said in a low voice. “The final sign that convinced them to give you that charm you wear around your neck. The water in Dann’s Mirror is sweet for you, but for no one else.”
It was plain to Rye that she was so used to the bland boiled and filtered water of the Keep that wild water was simply too strong for her taste. He could not say so aloud, however. The Fellan might still be close enough to hear. He could not risk talking disdainfully of the “sign” in which they had put so much faith.
“So it seems you are not as ordinary as you pretend,” Sonia muttered, glancing at him sideways. “Well, keep your secret, if it is so important to you! But surely you could have tried to make the Fellan help us! As it is, we do not know which way to go from here, or even where to take safe shelter for the night.”