Rye’s eyes blurred as he looked down at the green patch of peace. The tree could easily be a bell tree. Almost he could imagine that he was looking down at the garden in the Fleet guesthouse, where Sonia and Faene had walked not so long ago, their hair loose and shining in the sun, their light dresses floating in the gentle breeze.
That garden had been a place of peace, too. Until Olt’s Gifters came.
I cannot regret causing Olt’s death, Rye thought suddenly. I cannot! But I can try to stop the evil that flowed from it. And by chance I have the means.
He touched the bundle hanging from his belt. It was less bulky now, because Sholto had the book, but the gold casket was safe.
‘If Farr is in league with the Master, or if he is not, does not matter,’ he said aloud. ‘We will take the disc to the Fellan as we planned.’
‘Time is short,’ Sonia murmured. She was still staring out the window, staring at the horizon. At Fell End, where the pipeline ended? At the forbidden forest? At the murky cloud that marked Weld? Rye could not tell.
As he looked with her, a tiny flash caught his eye. On the road beyond the hills something was winking like a tiny beacon. He lifted the far glass.
Six people on horseback were moving towards Fell End. The leader had a short, broad sword in his belt, and it was this that was catching the light. He sat tall in the saddle, and was bareheaded.
It was Farr. Rye knew it. The three councillors were riding behind him, and behind them were two soldiers. Their shadows were long and dark, flickering along the road like spirits bearing them company.
Rye’s heart seemed to stop. Suddenly it was as if a spell had been broken—a spell that had held him for too long in this small square room where everything could be seen distantly, from above.
If Jett was right, sunset would mean the end of Weld.
A plan sprang into Rye’s mind, fully formed. He dug his fingers into the brown bag, searching for the charms he needed. ‘We must go!’ he exclaimed.
Sonia turned sharply, her eyes startled.
Rye clambered onto the windowsill, pulling her with him. ‘Farr has left Riverside,’ he panted, holding up the red feather. ‘It looks as if he is on his way to—to Fell End!’
‘Rye, wait!’ Sonia gasped. ‘You have not—’
‘Jett can stay where he is,’ Rye muttered, and flung them both into space. He felt the breeze from the river cool on his hot face, his neck, his ears. Only then did he realise what Sonia had been trying to tell him. He was not wearing the hood. He had forgotten to pull on the hood!
There was a crash behind them as Jett’s chair fell to the floor. Then Jett himself was at the window, bawling to the crowd below, stabbing his finger at Rye and Sonia.
‘Sorcerers!’ Jett roared, as shocked faces turned upwards and people began to scream, crossing their fingers and their wrists at the sight of two beings swooping like birds above them. ‘You see? I am innocent! There are your assassins! Do not let them get away!’
17 - Upstream
In seconds, arrows were flying into the air. The soldiers’ aim was deadly. If it had not been for the armour shell, Rye and Sonia would have perished at once. As it was, the arrows simply bounced away from them. The crowd cried out in terror and disbelief. The soldiers cursed, fitted fresh arrows to their bows and tried again, just as uselessly.
Rye struggled to pull on the hood, but it was flapping behind him in the wind and the silk kept slipping through his fingers. Desperately he scanned the ground, and at last caught sight of Dirk and Sholto edging back towards the little park, their shocked faces upturned.
What a fool they must think me, Rye told himself. How could I have forgotten the hood? He felt the power of the feather waver and heard Sonia catch her breath. Grimly he thrust his shame aside and focused his mind on his brothers, on reaching his brothers …
‘No!’ Sonia cried, hearing his thoughts. ‘Leave them, Rye! They are safe here. No one saw them with us. And neither of them is fit to fly!’
Rye shut his mind to her. His faith in Farr had been badly shaken but part of him still could not believe the man was his enemy. In Fell End he would find out for sure, and whatever happened after that, he wanted Dirk and Sholto with him.
He swooped downwards, shouting to Dirk and Sholto to be ready. His eyes stung and watered as the air beat into his face. The ground came rushing up to meet him—a blur of green, a blur of stone, his brothers’ faces, their mouths gaping. And then he was off the ground again, with Dirk and Sholto clinging to him, and was hurtling above the heads of the crowd through a hail of stones and arrows.
‘Rye, this is madness!’ Sholto roared. ‘Dirk cannot—’
‘Hold onto him,’ Rye roared back. ‘Just a few more seconds …’
They were soaring over the pipeline, skimming over the road. And there was the river, its rippling surface gleaming in the sun.
As they flew over the bank, Rye pushed the red feather deep into his pocket and pulled out the sea serpent scale he had put there in readiness. An instant later his companions were yelling in shock as they all ploughed into the river. Cool water opened to receive them, rose to cover them as they sank.
With elation Rye felt the pain in the palm of his hand that told him the serpent scale had sunk into his flesh. Strength flowed through him. Effortlessly he twisted in the water and slid beneath Sonia till in her panic she caught hold of his shoulders. He wrapped one arm around Dirk, the other around Sholto. Then he shot to the surface, dragging them all with him.
‘Swim!’ he ordered. ‘Feel what you can do!’
He barely heard the bellows of shock from the riverbank as he surged forward, carving through the water as if it were air, leaving a trail of foam behind him. His companions were no weight at all, and soon they were all helping him, feeling what he felt, revelling in their mastery of the current that pushed vainly against them.
It did not matter that Rye could not use his arms, or that Dirk and Sholto were injured. By the power of the enchanted scale they all streaked through the water like serpents, more often below the surface than above, leaving their pursuers far behind.
So they passed through low hills without seeing them, passed fields of green and gold without knowing it, passed Farr and his companions who turned in their saddles to stare. And in what seemed the blink of an eye, the Fell End jetty was beside them, and they were gliding to a stop behind a half unloaded barge.
No one in Fell End had seen them arrive. People were working far too feverishly on land to notice a disturbance in the river. Rye pulled the hood of concealment over his head and the companions peered over the flat deck of the barge.
The Fell End riverbank looked very different from the way it had when they had first seen it. Then the bank had been green and peaceful, a welcome banner had fluttered over the jetty and music had filled the air. Now the riverbank was churned mud, and crowded with barrels that were being rolled and hefted onto carts. Hundreds of loaded carts already stood in lines along the metal barrier that separated the town from the Fell Zone. Soldiers were labouring side by side with pipeline workers. People not strong enough to work with the barrels were scurrying around with drinking water for those who were. It seemed that every soul in the town was on the riverbank, engaged in this one, mighty task.
And above them the pipeline soared, complete. Clutching the side of the barge, looking up, Rye felt his mouth go dry. The vast silver pipe continued almost all the way to the metal barrier then tilted steeply upward, so it looked like the neck of a giant sea serpent rising high above the waves. It even straightened at the top, stretching over the fence like the serpent’s head.