“Where is the city?” she demanded. “And where is the sea? Surely we should be able to see it from here. The maps in all my books —”
“Mine, too,” said Rye.
A clammy coldness was creeping over him. He did not know what to believe. Either the Fellan had lied, and this land was not Dorne at all, or the map he had seen every day of his school life, the map upon which he had depended, was terribly, bizarrely, wrong.
It took only a moment for him to decide that he would rather trust the Fellan than the map. Why, he had not even known the Fellan existed until he had seen them with his own eyes! He had always been taught that the Fell Zone was nothing but a safety barrier for Weld — a forbidden belt of land dreaded by the barbarians and filled with monsters.
If he had not known about the people of the Fell Zone, what else did he not know about the land beyond the Wall of Weld?
He felt suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. It was all he could do to stop himself sinking to the ground. If he had been alone, perhaps he would have done it. But Sonia was with him, and pride kept him upright. He was determined not to show weakness before her again.
Deciding to follow her example, he bent to the stream and splashed his face vigorously. The shock of the cold water made him gasp, but when he stood up, his head felt clearer.
“Still no skimmers,” Sonia said, scanning the sky. “Well, that seems to settle one question, at least. The skimmers do not menace Dorne as a whole. Only Weld.”
“Dirk was always sure of it,” said Rye. It was a relief to speak his brother’s name. It made him feel stronger, steadier on his feet.
“If Dirk could find Oltan, we can find it, too,” he went on. “It cannot be far away. And surely there will be signposts, now we are out of the Fell Zone.”
They moved farther along the stream, then left it and climbed up to the little stone bridge.
Tired as he was, Rye had been quite looking forward to standing on the bridge. The only bridges in Weld were those that spanned the brick trench, and these were forbidden to all but Wall workers. His pleasure was spoiled when he saw that one of the bridge’s inner walls was defaced by a string of roughly painted words.
“How could anyone — even barbarians — splash paint on fine stone like that?” Rye muttered.
“This reminds me of the scribbles on the skimmer notices at home,” said Sonia, gazing at the painted words with interest. “Oh, how those scribbles enraged the Warden!”
She smirked, clearly enjoying the memory. “Whenever the soldiers brought a damaged sign back to the Keep, he — the Warden — would lose his temper. Then he would order the notice to be burned. Burned in the courtyard, too, so everyone could see.”
Rye’s frown deepened. “This is not at all the same! The gifting must cease — it is nonsensical! To give a gift is a good thing, not a bad one.”
Sonia shrugged. “We do not know how things are done out here. For all we know, there may be a very good reason for — Oh!”
The sudden exclamation made Rye spin around in fright, but Sonia was looking excited rather than alarmed. She was pointing along the road.
“There!” she whispered. “Look there, Rye! There, in the field, just beyond that grove of trees! A house!”
Rye narrowed his eyes, peering down through the shadows. Slowly he made out a small, humped shape not too far from the road’s edge.
“If we knock, the owners will surely give us beds for the night,” Sonia said happily. “And in the morning, we can ask them the way to Oltan!”
Rye shook his head, marveling that she could allow her hopes to deceive her eyes and her mind so thoroughly.
“That is not a house, Sonia,” he said. “It is far too small and low, even for barbarians. At best, it is a shed for animals.”
“Oh,” the girl said in a small voice and gave a forced little laugh.
“But it is very lucky you spied it,” Rye hurried on, seeing that she felt foolish as well as disappointed, and wanting to make her feel better. “It is shelter — and better shelter for us than a house. In the land of the barbarians, it would be unwise to trust in the kindness of strangers.”
“Perhaps,” Sonia murmured, but looked a little happier.
They left the bridge and walked together down the road toward the rounded building. The field in which it stood had once been separated from the road by a wooden fence, but now a whole section of the fence lay flat and trampled on the ground.
In Weld, it would have been unforgivable to enter another citizen’s property with no intention of asking permission. But Rye felt only a tiny twinge of unease as he stepped across the ruined fence and made for the shelter.
Tired to his bones, all he could think of was his need for rest, and it seemed that Sonia felt the same, for she followed him into the field without hesitation.
As they approached the shelter, Rye smelled the faint, familiar scent of goat droppings. There was another odor, too, stronger and sharper, which he did not recognize.
“This is a place for animals.” Sonia wrinkled her nose. “I hope there are none in there now.”
“If there were, they would be calling to us by this time,” said Rye. “Come on!”
With the girl trailing after him, he prowled around the shelter, looking for the entrance.
He found himself surprised and impressed. The shed was very sturdy — not at all like the ramshackle building he would have expected barbarians to throw together. It was neatly built of stone, like the bridge. The low roof was flat, made of hard gray sheets that shone like some sort of metal. At a distance, the roof had looked rounded because of the rocks that had been piled on top of the metal sheets to hold them in place.
“Perhaps they have skimmers here, after all,” he muttered. He glanced quickly at the sky but could see no movement there.
On the side of the shed farthest from the road, he found a strong wooden door bound with metal bands and fastened with an iron rod. Rye pulled the rod back, opened the door a little, and peered cautiously into the shelter. It was very dark and smelled strongly of goat, but as far as he could see, it was completely empty except for the layer of straw that covered the floor.
He pulled the door wider and noted a second metal bar fixed to the inside frame. “You can bar this door from the inside as well as from the outside,” he said in surprise. “It looks as if people do use this shelter sometimes. I wonder why —?”
“Rye …” Sonia said in a tense, level voice more chilling than any scream. “Behind you!”
Rye spun around. And there, lumbering toward them from the shadows of the nearby knot of trees, was a shaggy beast with tiny, hungry red eyes and a single white horn that jutted up from its muzzle like a curved sword.
It was big — bigger than a goat by far — bigger than six goats put together! As Rye stared, aghast, the creature grunted and pawed the ground. Its slavering jaws parted, showing blunt, yellow teeth in what looked horribly like a mocking grin. Then it lowered its head and charged.
There was only one thing to do. Rye and Sonia flung themselves into the darkness of the hut, dragging the door shut behind them.
Crawling on his hands and knees, Rye fumbled for the iron bar, found it, and thrust it across the door with all his strength. A split second later, there was a thunderous crash as the charging beast slammed into the wood. The door shuddered, but held.
The beast outside bellowed its rage. Again it attacked the door. And again.
“We are safe here,” Rye shouted, reaching out for Sonia in the dark. “We are safe. The door must have been made for this. It will not break.”