Winter Door by Isobelle Carmody Page A

head. “You are mistaken, Child Rage. The wizard sought to close the gate using all and many magics, and then one day he said he must go through the gate to learn how it had been created, for the more he examined it, the less it seemed like a proper world gate.”
    “The wizard went through the winter door?”
    Rue accepted a cup of steaming tea from Puck. “He did.”
    “Alone,” Puck muttered hotly, bringing a flowered teacup in its pretty saucer to Rage, who was glad to curl her fingers around the scalding heat of it. “He had to do it alone, did he not? All alone and by himself, though he had agreed to be part of an expedition,” the little man added fiercely. He turned and stumped away. Rue sighed.
    “How long ago did he go?” Rage asked.
    Rue’s eyes looked into hers. “Nine months ago.”
    “Are you sure he didn’t just go somewhere else?” Rage asked in a voice hard as stone to her ears. “Did anyone see him go through it? Maybe he only pretended to go through and then went off somewhere else.”
    “It is not the place of a child, even one who has done as much as you, to judge as a liar and a coward the one who created Valley,” Rue said in reproof. “Since his return, he worked tirelessly to repair the damage that was done here.”
    Rage wanted to say that she had every right to judge the wizard, given that he was her great-uncle and responsible for turning his own brother into a monster who had crushed his poor wife and all but destroyed his children. But thinking of her own world brought a new thought, one so awful that it quenched her anger. “Is it possible that this enchanted winter could have begun to leak through into my world?” Rage asked.
    The witch woman whitened. “What are you saying?”
    “I don’t know, but winter in my world is supposed to be over, only it hasn’t ended and everyone keeps saying how freakish and unnatural it is….”
    “I must consult with Guardian Gilbert,” Rue said decisively.
    “ Guardian Gilbert,” Rage echoed, wondering if she had misheard.
    The older woman nodded briskly. “He who was once known to you by the name Goaty. He remained with the wizard after their return from the shore of the Endless Sea and became his apprentice. His doubts and procrastinations were the cause of his many errors in the beginning, but in time he became the wizard’s primary helper. Unfortunately, the loss of the wizard seems to have set him back.” She sighed.
    “Goaty.” Rage shook her head in wonder. “What about the others? Elle and Mr. Walker?”
    “Mr. Walker is now Prince Walker of the little folk. He dwells with them chiefly in the caverns beneath Fork. The little folk guard the waters against those who seek to use them as did the Lord High Keeper, curst be his name.”
    “ Prince Walker!” Rage tried to imagine Mr. Walker as a prince but could only think of the snappy, high-strung little Chihuahua that he had once been.
    “He had to be made a prince so that he could pledge his troth to the king’s daughter,” Rue continued. “Sadly, Princess Feluffeen died a year past in a plague that came through the winter door.”
    “Princess Feluffeen?”
    “You met her. She preferred to be called Kelpie. She and Mr. Walker were wed.”
    “Kelpie died?” Rage murmured. A vivid picture came to her of the tiny smiling woman who had led them to the Place of Shining Waters, with her catsuit, high-topped boots, and cloud of pale hair floating like spun sugar about her delicate ears.
    “It was tragic, truly,” Rue said. “The wizard vanquished the plague, but many died first. The old king was among the last, though I believe he died as much of grief as sickness. Prince Walker became the leader of the little people in his stead and by his dying decree.”
    Rage was saddened by this list of woes. “He’s not the king, though?”
    The witch Mother shook her head. “He refuses the title. He says his daughter will be king someday.”
    “He has a