So Rye told her, as best he could, of his memory loss, of his life as Keelin. And when he had finished, Sonia told him her side of the story.
She told of waking on the Fell End riverbank to cries of terror. She told of running, of seeing him being taken, unconscious and surrounded by guards, to Farr’s barge. She told of fire, and people babbling of a beast sent by the enemy. She told of seeing Dirk and Sholto, both wounded, being carried onto the barge’s deck among many others. She told of hearing that Rye was to be taken to the chieftain’s lodge, and the barge chugging away, leaving her behind.
She said little of her journey to find him. But as she spoke, Rye caught glimpses of the long, dogged trek, the exhaustion, the hiding, the fear of asking for help from anyone.
In the city, she found her way to the chieftain’s lodge. The gossip of passers-by told her which room had been given to the stranger who had saved Zak from the beast. She called to Rye, tossed pebbles through his window two nights in a row, but still he did not respond. And then she saw him leave the lodge in a carriage driven by a scar-faced guard, and followed.
She did not see who made the blast that destroyed the museum, though she felt the danger just before it happened. In terror she heard the explosion, saw the building’s walls tilt and the roof fall. She saw the chieftain’s son and another boy running from the wreckage in a cloud of dust just before the final collapse. She saw them picked up and driven away by the scar-faced guard. Later, she saw the body of an old woman carried out.
‘But there was no sign of you,’ she said. ‘People were digging in the ruins—so many people that I could not get near. It seemed to me that some in the crowd were starting to look at me curiously—I look very ragged and wild by now, no doubt. But I could not bear to leave the place. I had to know …’
Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip.
And the rest of her story Rye saw in pictures that flashed from her mind into his. He saw Sonia slipping away from the crowd. He saw her climbing further up the hill to hide behind the shattered building. He saw her discovering what seemed to be the abandoned burrow of some animal.
He saw her crawling into the darkness, at first thinking only of shelter, then stumbling upon a maze of stone passages. He saw her moving on through whispering blackness, her candle flickering, blue pebbles falling from her fingers one by one.
And he saw her reaching the alcove and creeping into its shelter as her candle guttered and died.
‘Then you went to sleep,’ he said, covering Sonia’s hand with his. ‘Just before I woke in the pit knowing who I was, no doubt.’
‘No doubt.’ Sonia made a face. ‘I seem to be making a habit of sleeping through exciting events. But I was very tired. And this alcove … it sounds strange, Rye, but it makes me feel safe. When I first came upon it, it seemed to welcome me. And in here the voices in the stones are quiet.’
Rye had not thought about it, but now that he did he realised Sonia was right. He could hardly hear the groans and whispers that had plagued him as he found his way here. Why should that be?
He flicked the crystal light around the small space, and wondered why it was empty, when statues had stood in all the other alcoves he had seen. Then, as the soft beam swept over the floor, he thought he knew. The base of the alcove was covered not with dust, but with a thick layer of rust particles.
‘Whatever once stood in here must have been made of metal instead of stone,’ he said slowly. ‘Over time, it has completely rusted away.’
Sonia nodded without much interest. She was leaning back on the hard stones. She looked exhausted but very relaxed, as if finding Rye had for the moment driven all other cares from her mind.
Or as if there really is something about this alcove that gives her peace, Rye thought. His skin prickled.
‘Sonia,’ he said abruptly, feeling in the bag hanging around his neck, ‘move out into the passage!’
The girl opened her eyes and blinked at him in surprise.
‘Please!’ Rye insisted, hardly able to contain his impatience. ‘There is something I want to try.’
Staring, Sonia did as he asked. Rye turned in the cramped space. He pressed the key he had taken from the bag to the back wall of the alcove.
And with a grating sound, part of the wall swung open, revealing a small cavity in which stood a golden casket, glimmering in the crystal’s light.
‘What is it?’ gasped Sonia. ‘How did you know it was here?’
Rye’s heart was beating so fast that at first he could not answer. Reverently he lifted the casket out of its hiding place. The lid was exquisitely inlaid with blue stones. The swirling patterns seemed to move, one moment making pictures of sea serpents and fish, the next the shapes of ferns and trees. He swallowed.
‘It is a legend. I read of it in an old book. It has been hidden here, underground, for a very long time. Carryl, the museum keeper, was trying to find it …’
The casket was firmly sealed. He touched it with the tiny key and its lock clicked. Gingerly he opened the lid.
Inside, resting on a cushion of threadbare velvet, was a disc as large as the palm of his hand and as thin as paper, its surface rippling green and blue like water in the light.
Rye heard Sonia catch her breath. He hesitated, then took the disc between his thumb and forefinger. Magic thrilled through him. The little bag hanging around his neck seemed to pulse against his skin.
Carefully he lifted the disc. The velvet cushion collapsed into dust. The disc brightened, the ripples on its surface swirling and forming into words.
‘This is Fellan!’ Sonia breathed. ‘It is like the writing we saw in the forest pool beyond the golden Door. But what does it mean?’
Rye’s heart was racing, and so were his thoughts. Hastily he put the disc back into the casket. His fingers felt scorched. The light crystal, the little key, the concealing hood—all the powers he carried, the powers he had thought so wondrous—suddenly seemed no more than clever tricks. The power of the disc was something very different. It stirred him to the depths of his being.
‘I think,’ he said in a low voice, ‘Sonia … I think it is the token of the ancient pledge by the Fellan not to interfere in the wider affairs of Dorne. The Fellan beyond the golden Door told us of that pledge—do you remember?’
Sonia nodded, staring at the disc in the casket.
In Rye’s mind was the sudden memory of a conversation he had overheard in the city of Oltan. A man called Shim had been talking to Hass the fisherman. The Lord of Shadows, Shim had said, was angry because he had been defeated in a place called the Land of Dragons—repelled by a magic more powerful than his own.
‘You are powerful magic,’ he murmured, his eyes on the disc. ‘But even more powerful are the beings who made you.’
‘What?’ Sonia cried sharply. ‘Rye, what are you talking about?’
Rye turned to look at her. She was staring at him, her eyes dark with what looked like fear.
‘The pledge must be what is stopping the Fellan fighting the Lord of Shadows,’ Rye said. ‘If Farr returns this token to them—breaks it, perhaps, before their eyes, the oath will be dissolved.’
‘Farr will not venture into the Fell Zone,’ Sonia said, shaking her head. ‘People here hate and fear the Fellan. I have heard little on the streets, but I have gathered that much.’
‘You forget—I know Farr now!’ Rye argued. ‘He trusts me. Sonia, why do you look like that? What is wrong?’
‘I—I do not know,’ Sonia said in a small voice, quite unlike her own. ‘I just think it would be better to take the disc to the Fell Zone ourselves, without saying a word of it to anyone.’