The Golden Door by Emily Rodda

noticed the smile, because he drew himself up and looked stern.
    “While you are still in Weld, you are still under my care,” he said stiffly. “Down you go, then. Right to the bottom, if you please.”
    Gripping the rail, Rye began to go down the steps. The Warden followed, his soft shoes making faint brushing sounds on the stone.
    Down they went, and down. The air grew heavy with the odors of damp and mold. Rye seemed to feel the whole weight of the Keep pressing down upon him.
    His skin prickled more and more. He grew increasingly uneasy and his steps slowed.
    “Keep moving, Volunteer,” said the Warden behind him.
    “What is this place, Warden?” Rye could not help asking. “Where are we?”
    “Below the ground,” the Warden said. “We are moving into the base of the Keep — the oldest place in Weld. Keep moving. There is not much farther to go.”
    He sounded quite placid. The atmosphere of the stairway had not affected him at all, it seemed.
    Rye forced himself to move on. With every step, it seemed harder to breathe. Then, just when he felt he was going to have to stop, he saw a flash from below.
    “There,” said the Warden.
    Just moments later, Rye was stumbling over the last step into a small, glittering, circular room. He blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden, brilliant light. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this.
    The ceiling of the little room was bright, dreamlike blue, shining like glass lit from within. Thousands of tiny tiles, vivid as precious gems, made swirling patterns of red, yellow, green, and white on the floor and walls.
    It was like being inside a jewel box buried deep within the rock. Rye stood staring, awed by the beauty and the strangeness.
    Straight ahead of him, two soldiers holding tall spears stood on either side of a carved gold medallion fixed to the wall. On seeing Rye, they tilted their spears so that the shafts of the weapons crossed protectively over the golden disc.
    “I bring a volunteer,” said the Warden formally. “He has signed the Statement and may enter the chamber.”
    Without changing expression, the soldiers uncrossed their spears and stood back in their places.
    “Approach the wall, Volunteer,” the Warden said to Rye. “Place the palm of your left hand upon the Sign of Dann, and you will gain entrance to the chamberfrom which you can leave the city. Once inside the chamber, use the same hand to make your choice.”
    “Choice?” Rye repeated in confusion.
    “You will see,” said the Warden, and stepped back.
    Slowly, Rye approached the medallion. He felt as if he were in a waking dream.
    I am about to leave Weld, he thought, trying to make himself believe it.
    He looked for the outline of a door around the medallion but could see nothing. The glittering tiles swept in unbroken lines around the room, lines that had no beginning and no end. Rye’s eyes dazzled.
    Blinking, he turned his attention to the soldiers flanking the medallion. He wondered if they had been on duty the day Dirk stood in this spot, or the day Sholto came down those dark, winding steps with the Warden of Weld padding behind.
    He would have liked to ask. But the soldiers stood at attention, staring straight over his head. He knew they would not speak.
    He peered at the medallion’s carved surface. He saw that what he had taken to be simple decoration was actually a large letter D entwined with leaves and flowers. The flowers looked exactly like the badges his mother had received in honor of Dirk and Sholto, and suddenly, Rye realized that they were bell tree blooms. Dimly, he wondered why he had not noticed this before.
    He raised his left hand. He saw that it was trembling, and struggled to hold it still.
    How would Dirk have felt at this moment? Excited, of course — full of energy and fire. And Sholto? Sholto would have been all fascinated curiosity. Having come this far, neither of them would have hesitated.
    Rye pressed his palm against the medallion.
    A hot,