The deck lurched as the tether ropes were cast off. They were now moving smoothly away from the city. Rage went to the edge and watched it grow less and less distinct as the mist coiled between the ferry and the bank. The last time Rage had seen it from the ferry, Fork had been dark with malice. Now it was as pale and melancholy as a ghost city. At length, it dissolved into whiteness, and Rage turned to find Nomadiel watching her with a curious expression.
“Rally and I will lead you to the castle,” she said firmly.
“You said Elle went there?” Rage asked.
The child nodded.
Rage looked at Billy. “I just don’t understand how we could have come to Fork if Elle isn’t there. I was thinking about her, so we should have been drawn to her.”
“Perhaps you were drawn to Fork’s dreams of the Lady Elle,” Rally offered in a startling deep voice.
“Fork dreams a dream of the Lady Elle which is more bright and pure than the reality of her,” Nomadiel agreed. “And it is not just the city that dreams of her. All who dwell here share its dreams, just as Fork shares and absorbs their dreams. Indeed, Ania says that those who live here reflect the city as much as Fork reflects them.”
“Ania,” Rage murmured, remembering the young witch spy who had risked so much to help her when the ruthless High Keeper ruled Fork.
Nomadiel took this as a question. “She might have persuaded Hermani to let you go quickly, and even to give you aid, but she is not in Fork, either.”
“She is not a councillor?”
Nomadiel shook her head. “She is the trusted personal journeywoman for the witch Mother and carries much of her authority.”
“The witch Mother?” Rage asked.
“She will be at the castle. Unless she has returned to Wildwood. They have need of her there, and it was thought that you would come two seven-days past.”
Rage was aghast. They had been expecting her for two weeks! That meant more than a fortnight must have gone by since she had been in Fork, though less than a day of her own time had passed.
“At least it won’t take long to reach the castle,” Billy was saying. “It took us two days to get from the hill where we came out of the bramble gate to the ferry last time we were here, and it didn’t look that far to the castle.”
“It is said that travel was once much swifter in Valley,” Nomadiel said. “These days it takes a seven-day to reach the castle on foot, if there are no storms and if all goes smoothly in Deepwood.”
Rage realized that Nomadiel had little or no memory of Valley before the winter door had opened. Maybe that was why she was such a sullen little thing. Anyone might be the same if they had only ever known winter and grayness.
Billy expressed dismay at the length of time it would take, but Nomadiel laid a tiny hand on his arm to silence him. “I said it would take that long if we made the journey afoot. However, once we leave the ferry, I will send Rally to some friends of mine who dwell nearby. They will carry us as far as the entrance to Deepwood, once they know who you are.”
“Only to the entrance?” Billy asked before Rage could voice the question.
“We must make our own way afoot through Deepwood to the castle, else it will not allow us to pass.”
“What won’t let us pass?” Rage wondered.
“Deepwood, of course,” Nomadiel said. “It will test us, and only if we prove worthy will we be permitted to pass through it to the castle.”
“Test us! We don’t have time for tests, and what on earth would it test us for anyway?” Rage demanded. Cold was biting into her bare legs and making her feel out of sorts.
“Its nature is to test, just as Fork’s nature is to respond to its inhabitants,” Nomadiel said coolly.
Rage stared at her. “You mean that Deepwood is like Fork?”
“It is sentient,” Nomadiel answered. “But it is no more like Fork than I am like you or him. It has its own nature. The wizard did not desire to have people and creatures coming to him every time they had some small problem, so he gave the forest about the castle sentience and required it to keep away all but the most determined and worthy supplicants.”
“Worthy of what?”
Nomadiel shrugged. “That is something Deepwood decides.”
“What sort of tests?” Billy asked, sounding intrigued, and Rage remembered how much he had loved puzzles and questions when he had been human shaped before.
“The tests are different every time, but I have traveled to the castle many times and I will help you.”
“Is that allowed?” Rage asked rather bitterly.
“Of course,” Nomadiel said, looking surprised. “Is not the choice of companions a sort of test in itself? One must have wisdom to choose clever companions.”
The crow gave a dry croak that recalled them to the present, and they realized that the ferry was about to touch the other bank. Once the gangplank was laid down across the gap, they went ashore with the other passengers. It was true winter here, and Rage began to shiver uncontrollably.
Nomadiel frowned at her in concern. “I will ask Rally to tell my friends that you need proper clothing. I hope they will have some human clothes. I should have thought of it when we were in the city, but I was worried that you would talk about Elle again. I think we had better wait in the hut until they come.”
Nomadiel conferred briefly with the crow, who rubbed its beak gently on her cheek before launching into the icy air and flapping away. There was less mist on this bank but no streetlights, and Rally soon vanished in the darkness. Nomadiel ushered Rage and Billy into a hut. There was no heat, but at least they were out of the chill air. The floor was dry earth rather than snow, and two lanterns offered a golden glow that let them see one another clearly. Now Billy was shivering, too, and Rage stripped off his jacket. They pulled it around their shoulders and sat close together.
“I do think you might have worn better clothing,” Nomadiel said with faint but definite disapproval.
If Rage had not been so very cold, she would have had plenty to say to the haughty little creature, but instead she asked a question nagging at her. “Nomadiel, back there, you said something about Fork not letting Elle leave?”
“Fork did not want to let her go. At first it pleaded and remonstrated, then it simply made it impossible for her to leave. It would not let her come to the ferry port.”
“How did she get away?” Billy asked.
“She jumped into the River of No Return. She must have done it without thinking about it in advance, for Fork would have seen it in her mind and prevented her coming to the shore otherwise. I think few would do such a rash thing, for the river current might have slowed in these days, but it is colder than an ice bath. But she managed to swim to the ferry as it was crossing, and the river folk pulled her aboard.”
“She was all right, though, wasn’t she?” Rage asked worriedly.
“If she had not been, she would not have gone on,” Nomadiel said.
Billy said, “I suppose the city didn’t want Elle to go because it was frightened to face the winter alone.”
Nomadiel gave him a scathing look. “Fork is not cowardly. It was not fear of the winter that made it try to stop the Lady Elle leaving. It cares for her. Everyone knew it because the city sang of it. That is why everyone in Fork dreams of the Lady.”
Rage thought she must have misunderstood, and so she said it again. “The city cared for Elle?”
“Did I not say so?” Nomadiel asked, sounding annoyed. “Elle was its friend. For a time, it was wonderful here, even in spite of the winter door, for the city was happier than it had ever been, but then the Lady Elle said she must go and…well, I have told you.” After a moment, Nomadiel added morosely, “She didn’t mean to hurt it, but since she left, the city has lost heart and we begin to lose it to winter. She should not have left, once she had made the city care for her!”
“Elle is not the sort that can be held down when she wants to go,” Billy said gently.
Rag
e said nothing, for Nomadiel’s words rang true for her. Hadn’t she herself felt exactly this same sense of betrayal when Mam had fallen into a coma? Or whenever she thought about her uncle leaving? Then another thought occurred to her. She cared very much for Billy, but she had been prepared to leave him when she chose to return to her own world for Mam’s sake. She had wanted to leave him in Valley, but he had wanted to stay with her more.
“You said the city pleaded with Elle,” Billy said, breaking the silence that had fallen. “Do you mean it spoke to her?”
“The city communicates more deeply with some than others. Ania told me that she sometimes hears it, though it has never spoken to her. I have heard it sing,” she added with grave pride. Rage wondered if she ever smiled.
On impulse, Rage decided to put some of the questions she wanted to ask Rue to the child. “Where did the winter door come from in the first place?” she asked.
“No one knows,” Nomadiel said.
“What does the witch Mother think?” Billy asked.
Nomadiel shrugged. “She does not confide her thoughts to me, but my father believes that it was the firecat that made it, even though the wizard said it is impossible. My father says the firecat is a desperate, wicked thing whose hunger for power is great enough for it to have found a way.”
The sound of hoofs came drumming out of the darkness. Moments later, two centaurs galloped up and came to a halt at the door of the hut, plumes of steam rising from their nostrils. Rage, Billy, and Nomadiel went out to meet them. The human part of the older centaur was a matronly woman, while the other was a young, bearded man. Rally sat upon his shoulder.
“Good dark, Rage Winnoway,” said the male centaur in a thrumming voice. Rage recognized him as one of the witch Mother’s attendants.
“Greetings, Centaur,” Rage said.
“You have reached the changing time,” the centaur observed. “You are no longer a child, though you are not yet a woman. It is a time of great power and confusion among my kind and maybe your kind, too. This is my mother, and the leader of our tribe, Suria Lightfoot,” he added proudly, gesturing at the other centaur.
“Greetings, Rage Winnoway and Billy Thunder,” the female centaur said regally. “I hope that you will be able to find a way to end this deadly winter.”
“You honor us, Lady Centaur,” Billy said courteously. “I hope we can help.”
“Greetings, Princess Nomadiel of the little folk. How fare you?” Suria Lightfoot addressed the child with grave courtesy.
“I fare as well as we all do in this dark time,” Nomadiel said surprisingly softly.
“We have human garments that, though not beautiful, will serve to keep your friends warm,” Suria said, taking a pack from her back and dropping it into the snow. She nodded to the male centaur, who removed his own pack and dropped it beside the first. “There is food and other supplies such as you may need in the other pack.”
“Will you carry us to the castle trail?” Nomadiel asked.
“I will bear you there,” the male centaur said. “I did not know that you would travel, Princess, but I can carry all three of you, if you desire it. I am Galantir Longleg.”
“Thank you, Galantir Longleg,” Nomadiel said with dignity. She turned to Billy and nodded at the packs. “You had better dress so that we can go.”
Rage and Billy picked up the packs and carried them into the hut. Rage was relieved to find warm leggings, undershirts, and soft hide boots. There were also thick overtunics and warm, hooded coats. All the clothes were mud colored, roughly made, and scratchy, but they were warm, and that was the main thing. As they dressed, Rage asked Billy what he made of Nomadiel’s manner.
“She smells wounded,” he said, but before he could elaborate, Nomadiel came to the door and asked if they were not ready yet. “We must ride at once, for Suria Lightfoot says another storm cycle will soon begin.”
They quickly gathered their things, then clambered onto Galantir’s broad back, apologizing for their clumsiness. There were no stirrups or saddle to help them. Once they were mounted, Billy in front of Rage and Nomadiel behind her, Billy was commanded to tangle his fists in Galantir’s flowing mane. Then the centaur gave a wild neighing cry and broke into a canter that soon became a gallop.
The wind in Rage’s face was so cold that her eyes watered. She was glad not to be in front; Billy was shielding her from the worst of the icy wind. After a little, she found a way to peer over his shoulder. She was disappointed to see only a snowy road winding between two high, snowy banks. Before long, she felt drowsy from the rough monotony of the movement and the sameness of the view. She dreamed that she was walking in a dark, desolate place.
“See what will coming now, stupid ragewinnoway,” snarled the firecat.
Rage stiffened and whirled, but she could see no sign of the brightness within which the wretched creature hid its true form. “Where are you?” Her voice was sharp with anger and frustration, and she quickly modified it. “Will you come and speak with me? I’m sorry I didn’t listen before but—”
“Too late,” the firecat hissed.
This time when it spoke, there was a flare of light. It seemed to be coming from a puddle of oily liquid caught in a depression. Rage crossed to it and looked in. Sure enough, a reflection of the firecat glared out at her, its red eyes glittering.
“I said that I was sorry,” Rage said, trying to keep her voice even. “Now, if you want me to help the wizard, you must tell me what he sent you to tell me. Was it something about closing the winter door? Something about the gap between Valley and my world?”
The firecat gave no response.
“Please,” Rage said. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t help the wizard.”
“Ragewinnoway hates wizard,” the firecat said triumphantly.
Rage could not bring herself to lie. “I don’t much like him, it’s true. But that won’t stop me helping him.”
A cunning look shifted in the molten eyes. “Maybe firecat bringing you to wizard. You wanting that?”
Some instinct held her from agreeing. “Where is the wizard?” she asked. “Why didn’t he come himself, rather than sending you?”
The firecat glowed. “Ragewinnoway trying to trick firecat!”
Confused, Rage shook her head. “Trick you how?”
But there was no answer because something was dragging Rage away.
Rage opened her eyes to find that she was lying in the snow looking up at Nomadiel. She was carrying a small lantern, and all about them was impenetrable darkness.
“Are you all right? You fell off,” Billy said apologetically. “Luckily, you fell into a snowdrift.”
“Luckily,” Rage echoed wryly, struggling to her feet with Billy’s help. The road was bordered on either side by trees half buried under mounds of snow. Beyond the light given off by Nomadiel’s lantern, the darkness was as thick as molasses. There was no sign of the centaur.
“What happened?” Nomadiel demanded worriedly.
“I fell asleep,” Rage said, feeling stupid.
“Asleep!” Nomadiel snapped. “Our world is in deepest danger and you sleep!”
Rage opened her mouth to snap back but bit back her retort, remembering what Billy had said about Nomadiel smelling wounded. “I’m sorry. What happened to Galantir Longleg?”
“I told him to go back to his village. If he had stayed with us any longer, he would have been caught on the road in the storms. In fact, as it is, we may be caught if we do not hurry. We are not too far from the entrance to Deepwood. We can still get there if you can manage to stay awake long enough.”
Rage did not react to the small girl’s tone because she was impressed that Nomadiel had cared more about the centaur than about their own welfare.
“Maybe we can find some shelter and wait out the storm,” Rage said. “There used to be a village near here.”
“There is no waiting out the storms that come through the winter door,” Nomadiel said. “They are not natural storm
s but sick black conflagrations bent on destruction, and if we are not within Deepwood when this one strikes, we will die.” She turned and began to trot up the road.
Rage and Billy followed. “We can’t get to the wizard’s castle before the storm arrives,” Rage puffed.
“We don’t have to,” Billy assured her. “Nomadiel told me that we just have to get to the entrance to Deepwood. There is a hut close by where we can take refuge.”
“How can a hut be any use if those stone houses that were in the village can’t protect us?”
“The hut is part of Deepwood,” Billy said, “and Deepwood opposes the winter because it is not natural.”
“I hope it doesn’t decide that we are not natural,” Rage said.
“If it let Gilbert through, it will let us through,” Billy said reassuringly. Then he began to sniff the air.
“What is it?” Rage puffed.
“I can smell the storm. It smells…wrong.”
That word again. “Wrong how?”
Billy shrugged, annoyance tugging at his features as it always did when he couldn’t find words to explain a dog thought or experience.
“Use your energy for walking, not talking,” Nomadiel snapped over her shoulder.
All at once the darkness about them thickened, and the wind began buffeting them from all directions, sending powder snow into dervish spirals. Rage tried to ask Nomadiel how much farther it was to Deepwood, but there was a peculiar vibration in the air that tore her words away. One vicious gust extinguished Nomadiel’s lantern, and they were plunged into darkness so complete that Rage could see nothing at all, not even Billy or Nomadiel. She opened her mouth to call out, but the wind actually sucked the air out. She gasped with relief as Billy suddenly caught her hand in his. Her eyes adjusted to the slight glow given off by the snow, and she saw that he had also taken Nomadiel’s hand. The three of them struggled forward, but it was as if the wind deliberately opposed them, for it battered them spitefully as if trying to pluck them apart.