“How did the firecat reach you, once the manacles were on?” Rage asked.
“It dreamed its way to me.”
“Can the winter door be closed?” Elle asked.
The wizard shook his head. “No, but it could be dismantled. However, it would take more power than the firecat possesses. We need to widen the gap. Once the door is removed, the Stormlord can close the gap quite simply.”
“The Stormlord might still refuse to help,” Rage said. “He could just wait us out.”
“That is why we must not merely oppose him passively. We must fight with the weapons that are best for this battle,” Elle said. She stood up and in a ringing voice commanded that the celebrations begin.
And so began the strangest, most wondrous war ever waged; there was no anger and no bloodshed or fear or death. There was only flavorful food, stories, songs, and dances, all of which the summerlanders excelled at, once they understood what these things were. It was Puck who taught the summerlanders to sing. He had a voice of surpassing beauty, and he sang of the witch Mother, Rue, and of Wildwood. Thaddeus sang a comical song that required hand-slapping and foot-stamping, and the summerlanders sang the nonsense chorus back at him with laughing relish.
Then Elle was begged to sing. She obeyed, but her voice was so astonishingly bad that Rage gaped to see such a sound come from such a fair face. Incredibly, the summerlanders began to sing the same dreadful croaking song. Thaddeus began to laugh because Elle had stopped singing and was staring in amazement. She hadn’t known how bad her voice was. But rather than being hurt or resentful when she understood, Elle announced solemnly that having discovered that her voice was so unusual as to require listeners of an unusual degree of sensitivity, it might be better if she demonstrated dancing.
And dance she did, with such fiery grace and beauty that Rage felt she would never see anyone dance again without remembering this. Soon the summerlanders were inventing their own dances, hammering out a rough, surprisingly musical racket on their crude instruments. And throughout it all, the ground shuddered and sometimes quaked with such force that everyone stopped and looked up warily at the roof. The celebration seemed endless, and in the lulls where everyone was exhausted from reveling, there was storytelling. Afterward, Rage always said that it was the stories, most of all, that had won the battle.
Elle told of roaming in the highest hills of Valley on bright summer afternoons. She told how she had tramped over hills bare but for grass that blew and hissed and swayed over the hills like a sea, and of climbing mountains whose peaks were ever wreathed in mist.
Thaddeus told an exciting story of the days in which he had been a renegade keeper rescuing animals intended to be conserved. When he came to the part about being captured by the wicked High Keeper, Rage was taken aback to hear herself described in such flattering and flowery language that none of the summerlanders could possibly have imagined it was her.
Puck told a wicked tale of two lovers who had got muddled up with another two lovers in a forest, and of his riotous role in the confusion. Halfway through, Rage recognized the story of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
One of the summerlanders shyly told a modest tale of how he had heard about the summerlands from his old grandmother.
Shona rose to tell a grave tale of her first meeting with the great summerlands lady warrior, Elle. “I did not know whether the stories she told of the summerlands were true, but I desired to believe they were,” she said at last. “It seemed to me that if they were not true, then I had better die fighting for them anyway, rather than accept that this blackness was all that there would ever be.”
Her story proved so popular that in the hours to come, a number of other stories about meeting with Elle were told. Each teller vied to clothe their heroine in more magnificent and beautiful words, until she laughingly called a halt to it, saying she was having trouble recognizing herself under such finery. When at last the spontaneous storytellers faltered, tales were requested, and at length Rage found herself called upon.
Feeling shy, she rose and told the story of her coming to Valley and of her search for the lost wizard. When she came to the part where Bear passed through the night gate, never to return, she faltered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told this story. It’s sad,” she said huskily.
“Sadness is not dark,” the wizard said from his seat against the wall. “Or it does not need to be. Sorrow can have great beauty in it, when it is a remembering.”
“Bear’s story is a story of courage,” Elle said. “True courage is always beautiful.”
“Beauty erodes this dark world more than laughter or love or hope because, in a way, it is the opposite of all that this world represents,” the wizard murmured. Rage saw how his eyes lingered on Elle when he said these words.
Prompted to finish, Rage gathered her wits and did so. She was surprised when the summerlanders applauded at the end, several of them dabbing at their eyes and blowing their noses.
“You told it well,” Billy said huskily as she sat down.
Before Rage could respond, the ground trembled and shook more strongly than it had at any other moment. At the end of the long rumbling, there was a terrific crack. Everyone fell silent, and in the sudden absence of noise came the sound of running feet. An outer door banged opened, and a summerlander boy came running in with a swirl of snow and a chill gust of wind.
“Stormkeep’s gates have opened!” he gasped, eyes wide at his own tidings.
It was true.
The enormous gates that had never been seen open now stood ajar. A dim, bluish light showed from within, illuminating a great domed hall. Not a single gray flier was visible within or without.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Puck asked.
Everyone looked at Elle, who wore a long, dove gray cloak that fluttered in the faint icy breath of night. Snow fell softly, wheeling through the pools of light given off by the torches carried by the summerlanders. It fell onto Elle’s hair and hung like tiny seed pearls in the golden flow.
“It is an invitation and a challenge,” she finally announced.
“If a few go, it will be a message to the Stormlord that we do not fear him,” the wizard said. He, too, was wrapped in a thick cloak, but still he shivered.
“You ought to go inside,” Thaddeus told him.
“I will go into Stormkeep and accept this invitation,” he said. “I have been there before, and the fact that I am returning must make its master believe we have no fear of his power.”
“No,” Elle said gently. “You are ill. The machine may bind you again.”
The wizard hung his head and nodded.
“I’ll go,” Billy said firmly. “It should rattle the Stormlord to see me alive when he thinks that I fell to my death.”
“I will go, too,” Rage said, and was glad that her voice did not quiver. “It should be Billy and me because in the end, no matter what he does, we will wake. But he wants to see you most, Elle. I think he is curious about you.”
“Would that it were true,” the wizard murmured. “For it would mean his heart is not dead.”
“That is what I am hoping and why I have made no attempt to see him,” said Elle. “But if he would meet with me, he must first release the prisoners. That is the message that you will carry to him. I will come to him only when they are free.”
It was over an hour before Rage, Billy, and Thaddeus approached the bridge. It had been decided that the witch man must accompany them so that he could bring the prisoners out, in case Rage woke in her world and she and Billy vanished. There had been many volunteers, but Elle insisted that a small delegation was better, saying, “The Stormlord has felt our power. Now we will show him our confidence.”
The stone bridge was higher and more precarious than ever. Walking across it between Billy and Thaddeus, Rage was slightly protected from the worst of the wind, and there was no need for her to look anywhere but at Billy’s broad shoulders. This time she did not make the mistake of lookin
g down. As one, they stopped at the threshold of the gates. There was no sign of life save for the light of two flickering blue candles. They stopped again before three doors, all leading away from the domed hall. Through each lay identical long, ill-lit passages whose ends were lost in shadow.
“Do you suppose we are meant to wait here?” Thaddeus asked. His voice sounded thin in the cavernous space.
“I think we are to find our own way to the lord of Stormkeep,” Billy murmured.
“Very well,” Thaddeus said. “But how shall we choose, for all three ways look the same to my eyes?”
“I bet it doesn’t matter,” Rage murmured, thinking of Fork. “All doors and paths here will lead to the Stormlord.”
Without waiting for the others to respond, Rage walked through the central door and entered the long corridor beyond. Thaddeus and Billy followed. It was very cold and their breaths came out in white puffs. They had not gone more than two steps when a great whoosh made them all turn back. The huge front gates shut with a great, somber clang.
“Steady,” Thaddeus said.
“Doors are a bit like mouths, aren’t they?” Billy said thoughtfully, then he smiled wryly when he noticed their expressions. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be grim. But it’s like there is a fate that will swallow you behind every door you come to.”
“I know that you are fond of this gruesome philosophizing, but under the circumstances, I would think this is not the time for it,” Thaddeus said.
Rage couldn’t help but laugh at the pained expression on his face. “Just be glad Gilbert didn’t come,” she said. She was surprised how much better it made her feel to laugh, and she remembered Elle’s warning not to let their spirits fall.
“I suppose we ought to go on,” she said as firmly as she could.
“Yes,” Billy said gaily. “For there is seldom any point in going back.” He linked his arm through hers and nodded to Thaddeus to do the same. They marched forward that way, Billy and Thaddeus measuring their longer strides to Rage’s. She smiled to think how silly they must look.
They continued in this way to the end of the corridor, then parted to pass through a narrow doorway that rose high above them. They were in another passage. One side consisted of long columns, and through these was a vast, snow-covered courtyard. It looked the same as the one Rage and Billy had passed through before, when they had tried to escape with the wizard. But that one had been filled with gray fliers whereas this one was empty.
“We might as well keep going.” Thaddeus nodded along the corridor.
They passed through a door into another vast room. It was so silent that it took Rage a moment to realize that it was not empty. Rank upon rank of gleaming gray fliers stood silently around the walls. In their midst, on the black chair, sat the Stormlord in his heavy draperies, watching them through hooded eyes.
Rage glanced about but there was no sign of the beasts.
“Come on,” Billy said. He began to walk toward the Stormlord. Thaddeus followed and Rage brought up the rear. The Stormlord’s face was paler than ever, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted and ill, but it was impossible to pity him because of the coldness in his eyes.
Billy stopped and bowed, forcing Rage and Thaddeus awkwardly to do the same.
“What do you want?” the lord of Stormkeep asked in his flat, tired voice.
“We bring a message from our leader, the great summerlands warrior, Lady Elle,” Billy said in a clear, formal voice.
“Is she afraid to come here herself?” the Stormlord asked.
“She is afraid of nothing,” Billy answered proudly. “We are here to tell you that she will meet with you when you release all who are imprisoned here.”
“You dare to make demands of me?” the Stormlord asked hollowly.
“Our mistress dares all things,” Billy said.
“What does she want?”
“To see those who wish to leave Null go in peace, and to stop the darkness flowing through the winter door.”
“It cannot be closed,” the Stormlord said.
“No,” Billy said. “But it can be destroyed with your help.”
There was no way to tell what the Stormlord was thinking. “Why would I help your mistress?”
“To return your world to what it was meant to be,” he said. “A refuge for you. Once everyone goes, there will be no one left here to disturb you. If you will not agree to her requests, my mistress and her followers will remain in Null and beat away at the despair that binds this world until it cracks open like an egg.”
The Stormlord closed his eyes as if he were unutterably weary. “Perhaps I do not care if this world dies, and I with it.”
“That is your decision?” Billy asked calmly.
“I will reveal my decision to your mistress. She must come here to receive it.”
“You must release your prisoners before she will come.”
The Stormlord regarded them impassively for a long moment, then he sat forward in his seat slowly, as if it took a great effort of will. “Tell me how you escaped death when you fell into the chasm, boy.” This was to Billy. “Not knowing has caused me to feel curiosity, and this is the most irksome form of wanting.”
“You will have to ask my mistress about my escape,” Billy replied, cleverly implying that it was Elle’s powers that had saved him.
“Very well,” the Stormlord said. “You may go and tell your mistress that I will release half the prisoners. In return, she will meet with me, and I will give my answer to her demands.”
“Why wouldn’t he just tell us his answer?” Rage asked hotly. “Why does he want to meet with Elle if he doesn’t mean to try to hurt her?”
Elle turned to Thaddeus.
“Freeing half the prisoners is just a way to lure you in!” the witch man told her. “He will still have a lot of power because of the other prisoners, and you can be sure he means to use it against you.”
“Perhaps,” Elle said almost dreamily. “What do you say to this, Billy?”
“I’m not sure,” Billy admitted, pushing the soft fall of his toffee-colored hair from his eyes. “I mean, what Rage and Thaddeus said are true, but he wouldn’t have opened the gates to the keep unless he was acknowledging your power. If you refuse to go, he will know that you fear to be hurt and therefore that you have less power than he has come to believe.”
“That is my thought,” Elle said. “I will go and meet with him. You will go and tell him so immediately, Puck. He will sense that you are created, and this will further rouse the curiosity that troubles him. Tell him that one of the prisoners must be Nomadiel.”
Rage looked worriedly at the wizard, who had greeted them on their return with the news that Mr. Walker had relapsed.
“I don’t trust the Stormlord or this parley,” Puck protested darkly as he left.
“I have to admit that I agree with Puck,” Thaddeus said to Elle. “Lady, what need is there of a meeting between you and the Stormlord when we have told him what you want? Think what will happen if he hurts you or takes you prisoner? Or—” He stopped abruptly, but everyone knew what he had meant to say.
“If anything happens to me,” Elle said gently, “the force against the Stormlord is merely diminished by one.”
“No!” Shona cried. “You are our leader. Without you—”
“You can still succeed. In fact, you must, because I will be relying upon you to rescue me.”
This did what perhaps no other argument would have done. “We will come for you if there is any treachery,” Shona vowed through gritted teeth. “If he dares to take you, we will unmake his world.”
The ground trembled as if in agreement. After a startled moment, the tension in the room broke as everyone began to laugh.
It was not long before Puck returned to tell them sourly that the lord of Stormkeep had been informed that the Lady Elle would come to the fortress.
The prisoners were already being carried from the fortress by gray flier
s and laid in the snow at the other end of the bridge. The summerlanders labored for some time to lead or half-carry them inside the settlement, where healers waited to tend them. None of the ex-prisoners responded to friends or family, or to the change in their circumstances. Rage wondered how many of them would recover, for some must have been imprisoned for years.
Nomadiel was the last, and to everyone’s delight and relief, she walked out on her own. Her friends were watching anxiously from the other side of the chasm when she appeared, her little form silhouetted in the blue light. She broke into a run as soon as she was out of the gates, but she fell at the start of the bridge. Everyone gasped as she clambered to her feet and crossed the narrow bridge as if demons were at her heels. In a few moments, Nomadiel was hurtling across the snow toward Elle, who had run forward to meet her. The dog-woman gathered the tiny girl into her arms and carried her to where the rest of them waited.
“Oh, Elle,” Nomadiel gasped, “he let me go, but he made the gray fliers put Rally in a tiny, horrible cage right in front of my eyes. Rally is deathly afraid of cages. He couldn’t even speak to me because they had tied his beak. They took him away and told me to go.” She dashed away a fresh scatter of tears. “I love him so much, and he loves me. He is the only one who has loved me like that….”
“Hush, child. There are many who love you,” Elle said firmly. “Do not fear for Rally. He will soon be free, so dry your tears and go to your father. He is very ill and needs you….”
“He does not need me,” Nomadiel said sadly.
“He has thought that, but you have always had the courage to know better, my dear. Don’t lose heart now. Trust me,” Elle said.