Spires of Spirit by Gael Baudino Read Free Book Online

door, he did not hesitate, but pounded loudly. “All right, Mother, I'm here!” he shouted.
    But there was no answer. The door swung inward. Though the fire burned on the hearth and the air was thick with the smoke of herbs, the hut was unoccupied.
    Andrew stepped back, puzzled. She had wanted him: of that he was sure? Where—?”
    He turned. Out toward the mountains, where the foothills began amid bare rock and tumbled boulders, he saw a dim red light. It flickered, grew brighter. Nodding inwardly, he turned his steps toward it and followed a trail in the snow that led into the rocks.
    The slope was steep, the stones beneath his feet jagged and uneven, the boulders so thickly strewn that at times there was barely enough room for him to squeeze through, and he found himself wondering how she had dragged herself along this path. Still, he continued, and as he did, the wind rose, shrieking through the rocks, howling among the tumbled boulders.
    He had thought the night would be clear, but he saw now that it was clouding up. Already, the growing overcast was overtaking the full moon, but Andrew continued in the direction of the red light, now brighter still, and at last he rounded a turning to find a flat expanse of packed earth and bare rock surrounded by a ring of tall boulders. The wind had swept it clear of snow, and at the center burned a low fire.
    Behind the fire stood the Leather-woman.
    The flickering light set her shadow rising hugely behind her, dancing back and forth on the rocks. Her stick writhed in her hand, and her tattered shawl blew in the wind. For a moment, Andrew stayed within the cover of the stones, but the beryl glowed as he grasped it for reassurance, and he left his shelter, approached, and stood across the fire from the Leather-woman.
    She did not speak at first, only eyed him up and down as though astonished at this common laboring man who had dared oppose her. “I warned you,” she said at last.”
    “I know. It didn't do any good. I still care.”
    “You're a fool.”
    “Maybe.” He searched for words, hoping to find something that would make a difference to her. He came up with dust.
    “Fools suffer for their foolishness.” She lifted her stick, but the beryl glowed in response. Andrew fingered the stone through its covering of cloth and leather and laughed nervously.
    “Why don't you just accept the fact that someone wants to do you a good turn?” he said. “It doesn't cost you anything. I fixed your house, and I've given you food and wood. I've left you alone other than that. So, other than that, you can live as you want.”
    She lowered her stick, grounding it. “Live as I want? What do you know about my living? You don't know how many nights I've huddled in my straw and prayed for death. I don't want life. Not like this. Keep your life.” Her voice cut through the wind like a file.
    “But you ate my food, and you didn't tear out the plaster.”
    “Yes . . . damn you. That's true. All of it. I pray for death, but I don't have the will to destroy myself. I thought for a while that I could . . . and then you came along with your damned gifts.”
    “It could be different.”
    “Could it? Can you take away the fear? Can you undo eighty years of hate, can you make me young again and take away my crippled leg and my harsh voice? Can you? Get to work then, Master Carpenter, you with your elven magic and your stone of protection.” Her eyes were cold even in the red light of the fire. There was no hope in them. Hope had fled long ago. “It'd go hard with you if you didn't have that beryl, I'll tell you.”
    Slowly, Andrew removed the pouch from his shirt and slid the stone into his palm. It shimmered with the light of a thousand stars, patterns of life forming and reforming within it as though it were alive.
    He looked at her suddenly. “Would it? When I saw you in the street months ago, I saw you for the first time. All my life you'd been the Leather-woman with her evil and her