The Firehills by Steve Alten Page B

typical of
Sam, she thought. Miracles and wonders followed him wherever he went, and he
blundered around in the middle of them, moaning and sulking like a child. He
was a hero, yes. He had defeated the Malifex, after all—but almost by accident. She had done
most of the real work. And Amergin, of course. She sighed. It all came down to
power again. Sam was a boy and had it; she was a girl and didn’t. If only
there was some way. . . . She thought again about her initiation and the books
she had read as part of her training. Her Book of Shadows was full of tantalizing hints and rumors
of the powers she would gain as she completed her training. One ritual in
particular had always stuck in her mind, because it summed up the glamour of
Wicca. It was central to the Craft and was carried out by the high priestess.
Charly shivered just thinking about it. From her earliest memories, she had
dreamed of one day becoming a high priestess, with her own coven. An idea came
to her and she sat up.
    Her mother would go crazy. She felt sick when she thought
of how mad her mother would be. But then she thought of Amergin and Sam and of
how she had encouraged Sam to set off on his rescue mission. Her mind was made
up. She jumped off the bed and ran over to the window. The sun was setting off
along the coast, its light glinting on the sea far below. Charly threw open the
window and breathed in the salt tang of the air. Closing her eyes, she
concentrated on a shape. It was becoming easier with every attempt. Moments
later, a seagull flicked its white wings and headed into the east.

chapter 5

    The sixty-five ships of the Milesians rode the swell off
the coast of the new land, their tattered sails furled now. Amergin stood in
the prow of the leading ship, one foot braced against the gunwale, and looked
out over the expanse of green. As his eyes took in the rolling hills where the
cloud shadows raced, his heart felt as though it would burst with joy. A song
came to him—
    Amergin. I know you can hear me.
    An insistent pressure pushed against the edges of his
mind. Go away, he thought, this land is ours. Amergin. Stop it,
now. You’re wasting your time. Again, the pressure, making colored
lights dance behind his eyes. And then a searing pain that brought him gasping
into consciousness.
    That’s better, said the
Lady Una. You can’t hide in your memories forever.
    “My lady,” croaked the wizard. He had neither eaten
nor drunk for many hours now, perhaps days. It was impossible to tell in the
darkness of the cavern. He peered down at the ghostly oval of Una’s face,
floating in the gloom below him. He was suspended in midair, far above the
floor of the chamber, by a webwork of pale blue energy that
crawled and writhed over his skin. His arms and legs were flung wide, and the
pain in his joints was becoming unbearable. He was kept aloft by the will of a
circle of faeries, crouched around the perimeter of the cave. They worked in
shifts. Whenever one of the circle grew tired of their mental efforts, that one
would be replaced.
    “Amergin, my dear,” said the Lady Una, using
conventional speech rather than her mind, “your defenses are weakening; I can
feel it. But you could end the pain now, so very easily. Simply tell us what we
want to know.” She sat on the ground beneath him, knees tucked up beneath her
chin, and smiled sweetly. “What—or who—is this force that opposes us? And
how can we overcome it, to claim the power of the Malifex?”
    But Amergin had gone. In his mind, he was splashing
through the surf, side by side with Eremon and Emer Donn, up onto the shores of
Ireland.

    ‡

    With the setting sun at her back, Charly left the
buildings of Hastings behind her and headed out over wilder country. Wheeling
over a crumpled landscape of woods and valleys she searched, straining to find
a familiar landmark. Normally, she would have been lost, but in this body, she
could draw upon senses that would bring a bird safely from Africa