The Golden Door by Emily Rodda Page A

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.”
    “No,” she agreed through chattering teeth. “It will not break.”
    But as crash after frightful crash shook the door, it seemed impossible that it would not give way. Ryeand Sonia clung together, listening to the squealing bellows of the beast. Both of them kept repeating that the door was strong, that the door would hold. Both of them secretly waited in terror for the sounds of splintering wood and tearing metal that would signal the end.
    And then, suddenly, the attacks on the door ceased. Rye held his breath, his ears ringing in the silence. Then, through the walls, he heard scrabbling, scraping, and scuffling as the beast went slowly around the hut, nudging at the stones, looking for a weakness.
    It circled the shelter once, twice, snorting and grumbling. Then, at last, he could hear it no more.
    “It has gone,” Sonia breathed. With a sigh of relief, she slumped against the wall.
    “It may not have gone far,” Rye said grimly. “We can only hope it finds other prey soon so it will forget about us. I do not like the idea of being trapped for more than a night in this smelly goat house.”
    “Do not call it names,” Sonia joked feebly. “This shelter saved us. Finding it was a great piece of good fortune.”
    It seemed more like a great piece of bad fortune to Rye. He was fairly sure that the horned beast kept watch on the hut because the hut often housed the goats it liked to eat. If he and Sonia had never come near the place, they might never have been attacked.
    “It was the Fellan charm that brought us luck, no doubt,” Sonia went on. “The nine-powers charm.”
    Rye had forgotten all about the charm. He put his hand up to the little bag hanging around his neck. His fingers tingled, and he snatched them away again.
    It suddenly came to him that perhaps the charm had brought him bad luck because it was not rightfully his.
    He seemed to see his mother and Dirk nodding seriously. He seemed to hear Sholto scoffing at the very idea.
    He lifted the cord over his head. He slipped his thumb and two first fingers into the little bag and began to feel the objects jumbled inside it.
    Something soft — a feather, he was sure of it. Something twisted in paper, like a pill or a sweet. Something hard and knobbly …
    And suddenly, the tiny bag lit up like a lantern.
    Rye yelled in shock and pulled his fingers out of the bag. The light went out.
    “Oh!” Sonia cried in excitement. “A light! A magic light! Make it shine again!”
    Not sure he was doing the wisest thing but far too curious not to try, Rye pushed his fingers back into the bag. Cautiously he groped for the knobbly object he had been holding when the light went on.
    The moment he found it and grasped it between finger and thumb, the light appeared once more. Carefully, Rye drew the object out and held it up.
    It was a crystal, no bigger than a honey bush berry, but shining more brightly than a lantern ahundred times its size. Now that it was out of the bag, the light that beamed from it was strong enough to flood every corner of the hut.
    It was strong enough to show Rye that he had been right. He and Sonia were not the first people to have taken shelter in the goat house.
    Words had been scratched on many of the stones of the back wall. The scratches were new, sharp and clear, and every message was the same.

    “Wonderful!” Rye heard Sonia sigh. He looked around and saw that she was gazing at the shining crystal in awe.
    “Is it hot, Rye?” she asked eagerly.
    Rye shook his head. He did not know what to think or how to feel. He could not share Sonia’s uncomplicated delight. The crystal was wonderful, but it was frightening, too. No thing so small should be so powerful. No ordinary boy of Weld should own it.
    He looked down at the little bag.
    Nine powers , the Fellan Edelle had said. Nine