Beyond the Door

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  “A generation ago, a Filidh arose who was weak. He turned his back on the old knowledge in return for promises of power and dark magic. It was not enough for him to rule the Travelers and to remind the people of the Truth. He wanted to rule over kings and all the servants of the Light. So he bargained his position away to the Dark for promises of power and wealth. But it is always folly to bargain with the Dark.”

  Jessica squirmed and looked at Timothy.

  “Although the Filidh remained Master of the Market in name, his power was diminished, for the Dark is a harsh master. Eventually, he was forced to leave, and the Dark chose a new master to replace him: Tristan, a man easily controlled by his own greed. Tristan is nothing more than the Dark’s pawn, although he doesn’t realize it. And with the Dark came the Animal Tamer. He is the one who truly controls the Market.”

  Balor, Timothy thought. He pictured Sarah chained to a cage.

  “Now, Gwydon, being very wise and a shape-shifter, was able to steal the one true mark of the Filidh from the Master of the Market and hide it away until a true Filidh would arise to challenge the Dark. He who claims this mark is the true Master of the Market, the Filidh of his generation, and can free those the Dark holds captive. But to do so involves grave risk, even death.”

  Julian sat for a time, staring into space. Even Nom had stopped eating and was staring down thoughtfully at his much-worn shoes. Jessica’s eyes were shining, as if she longed to be on a great adventure, on a quest for the hidden mark of the Filidh, the sign of the true Master of the Market.

  Timothy sat hunched among the cushions, his mouth open. “My mother’s family is O’Daly … Does that make her a Filidh? Is that why the rat bit her?” His mother had always seemed a perfectly normal mother, who just liked to paint, and sometimes forgot about regular things like making dinner or washing the clothes.

  “Not everyone with the family name is destined to be a Filidh,” Julian said.

  Timothy shook his head in confusion. “Who in my family would turn to the Dark? And what was the mark of a Filidh that Gwydon hid?”

  “Some of these answers you must discover yourself. But I can tell you this. A stone was hidden, a stone that cries out when a true Filidh places his foot on it. It is the most precious of the four treasures of the Market. The other three are a cauldron, a spear, and a sword. These are the things Balor needs to control the Light. But he can’t find them without a Filidh to lead him to them.”

  “But that’s part of a story Mrs. Clapper told me. She told me about the missing stone.”

  Jessica’s eyes shone as she looked from Julian to Timothy. “Don’t you see, Timothy? It must be you! You must be the one meant to find the stone!”

  Timothy jumped at the sharp rap on the door.

  “It’s a dark night for visitors,” Julian said in a low voice.

  Gwydon whined and rose to his feet.

  From outside the door a female voice replied, “May this door open to the Light.”

  Julian jumped from his stool and flung open the door of the caravan. There on the steps stood Peter and his mam, the baker, Fiona.

  Glancing hurriedly over her shoulder, Fiona slid in like a shadow, with Peter following right behind. Their breath came in quick puffs as if they had been hurrying, and dark cloaks covered their clothes. Cradled in the woman’s hands was a small blue ceramic jar. She approached Timothy.

  “I’ve brought the thing you need to help your mother. It’s the only thing that will help her. When I saw her face in the water, I knew right away what she needed. And then my own Peter”—she gestured to the boy—“told me you had come with your sister and friend to find a cure. I didn’t dare say anything when Tristan was there.”

  Once more, Fiona looked over her shoulder toward the closed door, and Timothy again noticed the scar across her pale throat. “Rub this on the bite,” she continued. “Don’t worry about the smell. The odor is healing.”

  Timothy reached eagerly for the jar, but she still held it close and with a nervous hand tucked a pale strand of hair behind her ear. “It comes with a dear cost,” she said quietly. “If you use it, you will never be able to return to the Market as you are now. It will mark you, and no matter how much you wander, you won’t find your way back.”

  Timothy froze. Sarah was here, held captive by Balor. If he took this medicine to his mother, how would he ever come back to save his sister? But what had the Greenman said? Something about his mother needing his help before dawn? How could he choose one over the other?

  He caught Jessica’s eye. She was unusually quiet. “Jessica can take it to her while I help Sarah,” he said.

  Fiona shook her head sadly. “No, it must be delivered by a kinsman. It is your task, Timothy.”

  Nom smacked his fist in his palm. “What did he tell you?” he said to Timothy. “Weren’t you listening at all? It’s not your job to save your sister!”

  Jessica reached out and laid a hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I’ll do everything I can to save her.”

  “And she won’t be alone.” Peter stood up very tall. “I’ll help her. No one’s going to keep Sarah.”

  This was not the way adventures were supposed to work. Timothy wanted to be the one to save his mother and his sister. How could he bear not knowing what was happening here while he was back home? He looked at the floor, unwilling now to reach for the blue jar.

  Julian stood. “Did you not hear my story, Timothy? You are an O’Daly. Your work leads you in other directions. Your sister will never be alone. But it is, I grant, a difficult choice, and one only you can make.”

  Slowly, Timothy raised his head. Something in Julian’s face alarmed him. It didn’t feel like he really had any choice at all, and it was hard to breathe. Too much was expected of him. The caravan was too stuffy, too close. He needed to go outside to think. He bolted for the door.

  By using the key provided here, you can decipher the Ogham script that appears in this chapter. Zoom in or increase font size to see code more clearly.

  THE OLD WAYS

  HE AIR WAS THICK inside the dark sack, and no matter how she pushed against it, there seemed to be no way out other than the tied-off opening at the top. But more than anything, she wanted food. Finally, it was the emptiness of her stomach that drove her, for when someone tipped the sack sideways and opened the end, she scrambled forward out of the darkness, in spite of the bright light blinding her eyes, only to find herself trapped again.

  She didn’t know it was a cage at first. It was just a place out of the sack, a place where there might be food, but as she explored every corner of it, she discovered that it was enclosed with metal bars, that there was no way out.

  A large hand covered with a mat of red hair opened the top of the cage and dropped three mice at her feet. Seeing her, they scurried in circles, but she drew back her head and then shot forward. In one swift gulp, she consumed the first mouse, fur, bones, and all. The next followed quickly, but the third made her chase him around the cage. The smallness of the cage gave the mouse the advantage, but she could move swiftly as well, and with a quick flick to the right, she caught him by the tail, and in two bites he was gone. The gnawing in her stomach quieted, she curled once around in the corner, and slept.

  Arkell and Andor watched in silence from the lofty branch of a pine. Timothy was standing below them, alone in the dark. His fists were clenched, and his shoulders shook as if he were sobbing.

  In the shadows of the forest, old things moved. Trees shook their branches. A fox startled a brood of quail from their nest. He is alone. Andor’s words were like the first wind of winter, bleak and cold.

  Arkell ruffled his feathers. Not alone. The Greenman has come, and we are watching. The one-eyed man will not be able to reach him while we are here.

  Timothy dropped heavily on the edge of a large boulder perhaps thirty yards from the caravan and wrapped his arms around his knees. His first thought had been to run, but where would
he go? He didn’t even know where the Market was in space and time.

  A vein in his temple began to pulse. Everything was falling apart. Entropy, he thought, twelve Scrabble points. Last year he had read about entropy, the tendency of everything to move from order to disorder, and he had liked saying the word. But now it seemed menacing; it felt as if the world were filled with it, and his life was unraveling. Sarah was his first and best friend. He could always count on her. How could he abandon her to Balor, the most evil thing he could imagine? And yet, while he didn’t know how to help her, he now had the means to help his mother.

  The Greenman’s face rose in his mind. He remembered his full laugh and the way he had called Timothy by name. A little of the loneliness subsided.

  The door to the caravan opened, and Gwydon padded down the steps. Silent as a shadow, he approached, then stood before Timothy, his face almost level with the boy’s. Timothy stretched out one arm to ruffle Gwydon’s fur, and the wolf rested his chin on the boy’s knee.

  “Gwydon, I think I have to leave. Please save Sarah for me. Help Jessica and Peter to save Sarah. They’ll need all the help they can get.”

  And then the wolf did a very surprising thing. He took Timothy’s hand in his large mouth and very gently nibbled it. Then he put one paw on Timothy’s lap and butted his head against Timothy’s forehead.

  Timothy stood and returned to the caravan, Gwydon padding by his side. The others turned as one when he entered the room. “I’ll go,” he said.

  Jessica ran to him and threw her arms around him, and for a moment his face was buried in her curls. She smelled of campfires, and sun, and something spicy that made him reluctant to let go.

  Julian looked at him over the top of Jessica’s head.

  “I know the decision wasn’t easy, Timothy. But the best thing now is to get you home as quickly as possible. Your mother’s life depends on it. In the larger battle, one life may seem a small thing, but to the Light every life matters. And there is something more. Your ability to rule as Filidh is being shaped now. There are still many things you need to learn, tasks you need to perform, and decisions you need to make. Each of these will change you as much as they change the people you help.”

  But Timothy heard only the words “rule as Filidh.” Was Jessica right? Was he the one meant to find the stone?

  Jessica let go of his neck, and Nom punched him in the arm. “Now, that’s what I calls thinking things through!”

  Julian still looked grave. “Nom, you brought Timothy here, but your talents may still be needed. I have another way for Timothy to return home.”

  Fiona said, “I must get back to my baking or there’ll be no loaves for morning, and Peter must be up early as well.” She drew a soft leather bag out of her skirt pocket. It hung from a leather loop that she slipped over Timothy’s shoulder. “Here’s a pouch to carry the jar in. And here is the medicine.” She slid the jar into the pouch. “I don’t want you dropping it in your travels. Rub it directly on the bite twice a day if you can. But rubbing it anywhere on her skin will help, and she’ll be well soon. And, Jessica, we have room to house you for the night, too.”

  Julian addressed Jessica. “I think it is a wise idea that you rest there. Tomorrow will not be an easy day. And Timothy and I have some planning to do. It’s best to say good-bye now.”

  This was all happening more quickly than Timothy had expected. He slipped the leather loop over one shoulder. The pouch fit close to his side. Then he jammed his hands in his pockets so no one could see they were trembling. His fingers curled around the cool, smooth surface of the leaf, but still his heart raced. All his doubts and fears roiled. What if he couldn’t do all that was expected of him? But before he could say anything, Jessica was hugging him again and promising to do everything she could for Sarah, and Peter was shaking his hand and promising to do all he could, too.

  As soon as Peter and Jessica and Fiona had gone, Julian moved quickly, leading Timothy back out into the night before he reconsidered. Gwydon paced by their side.

  In the quiet of the night, the only sound was the soft padding of Gwydon’s feet. Overhead, the sky was clear with a million—no, a trillion—stars on view. Timothy felt very small under the canopy of sky. He thought of Star Girl, whom he had first met on a night like this, a night wide with stars and the moon, and he wondered if she was watching him now. Even with Gwydon by his side, he felt alone again, cosmically alone. It was a strange feeling, and he thought that maybe who he was and what he was doing were very small things in the plentitude of space and sky surrounding him.

  Timothy liked the word plentitude and held it in his mouth awhile; rolling it over on his tongue the way he held mints until they dissolved and his mouth tingled. If he listened closely, he could hear the great wolf’s breath and a very faint rustling in the trees. He followed Julian and Gwydon blindly, not knowing where he was going. The trees drew closer around them until he could only see the sky in jigsaw pieces and a few stars tangled in branches. Far overhead there was a great flapping, and a shadow passed over him. Looking up, he saw two dark shapes settle on a branch. Eagles, he thought, just like at home. Sarah had called them watchmen. And when he thought of Sarah, he hunched his shoulders and hung his head.

  Gwydon stopped as the path forked, right beneath the tree in which the two eagles perched. He sat on his haunches, and Timothy looked into the wolf’s golden eyes.

  “What is it? What do you want me to do?” Timothy said.

  Gwydon lifted his snout, and for a moment Timothy wondered if he was about to howl—the long, mournful howl of a wolf.

  But Julian spoke instead. “There is a portway just beyond the stand of birch. A narrow track, an Old Way, is there. Walk on the track.”

  Timothy didn’t want to go alone, but he could see his mother’s face, and his heart was torn. He turned and gave Julian and Gwydon one last look.

  “That’s right,” Julian encouraged. “Keep your focus and you won’t lose your way.” Gwydon nudged Timothy forward with his nose.

  Timothy placed his hand on Gwydon’s soft head and took a deep breath. Then he strode out toward the birches, which were silver in the moonlight. And between the trees, something more glimmered. Timothy spied the shape of a girl with long hair. He hurried toward her. As he reached the birches, Electra gazed solemnly back. Just beyond was the narrow single track, just as Julian had described. Without stopping or looking back, Timothy stepped onto the track.

  Afterward, he found it very difficult to explain the sensation of being on the Old Way, except to say it was rather like trying to balance on a skateboard the very first time. It was as if the road were alive, sinewy and muscular. And then everything blurred.

  When he was able to see clearly again, Timothy found himself on his hands and knees in the middle of a dirt track he recognized. It was the exact spot in his familiar woods where an old log made a perfect bicycle jump, and he’d ridden here a hundred times before. He was only about a quarter mile from home.

  He felt for the pouch. It was still there, safe at his side. He began to run.

  By using the key provided here, you can decipher the Ogham script that appears in this chapter. Zoom in or increase font size to see code more clearly.

  HOME AGAIN

  FEW LIGHTS WERE LIT in the windows of the Maxwells’ house. Timothy’s mother’s car was in the driveway. So was another car, one he didn’t recognize. He didn’t see his father’s car anywhere, and that, Timothy thought, was odd, considering how sick his mother was.

  Timothy slowed his pace. He would have to explain where he had been, but he didn’t know how long he’d been gone. He stood in the driveway, looking up at his own familiar bedroom window. How was he going to come up with a convincing story to explain his absence? And how would he explain where Sarah was now? He’d have to improvise, he thought. The important thing was to get the medicine to his mother.

  He slipped in through the front door. The house wasn’t completely quiet; the radio was on,
playing some of the classical music his mother liked, but he didn’t see anyone.

  Quietly, he tiptoed to his parents’ bedroom and pushed open the door. What if he was too late? His heart thundered so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear his own footsteps.

  There in the big antique bed was his mother, propped up on pillows, looking very small. Her face was waxen, covered with a sheen of sweat, and the flesh was pulled too tightly across her bones. Her right arm was hooked up to an IV, like Timothy’s had been once when his asthma was very bad.

  Next to the bed, in a rocking chair, sat a woman wearing a starched uniform and bright orange lipstick. The woman looked up when Timothy entered.

  “I told them you didn’t need to come right away. Your mother needs rest and quiet.” She frowned at Timothy as if he planned to make noise and cause confusion. “But I expect you want to see your mom.” Her orange lips softened a bit. “I’m the nurse. I’m here to help out with your mother.”

  But Timothy had eyes only for his mother. She hadn’t even stirred. “Is she—”

  “Now, don’t worry yourself. It doesn’t help anything. Your father’s just stepped out to pick up a new prescription. We’ve everything under control here. Tell your sister not to fret, too.” The nurse held an ice chip on a spoon up to his mother’s parched lips. She took it into her mouth mechanically and with difficulty. “That’s right, dear. Suck on that. You need some moisture.”

  Timothy crept closer to the bed, his hand covering the pouch at his side.

  “Well, since you’re here, and if you wouldn’t mind sitting with her, I’d like to use the ladies’ room.” The nurse gave an orange smile and got up briskly.

  “That’s fine,” Timothy assured her quickly. “I’ll stay with her.”