The Firehills by Steve Alten Read Free Book Online

lunch date.”

    ‡‡

    They stepped out through a narrow passageway into the
crowded streets and found themselves close to the Mermaid Restaurant. Megan and
Amergin were already seated at a white plastic table, four steaming plates of
fish and chips in front of them. With a wave, Charly and Sam made their way
through the crowd and took their seats.
    “Mum,” began Charly, tucking into a chip, “you will
never guess what just happened to us—are you two OK?”
    Charly sensed a certain coldness in the air.
    “Oh, yes,” replied Megan, “we’ve had a great time.
We’ve been on the choo-choo train, haven’t we?” She favored Amergin with
a sour look.
    “We can go to the museum this afternoon,” said Amergin
with the look of a man in the doghouse.
    “Anyway, go on,” continued Megan. “What happened?”
    “We got chased by weirdos! We had to jump off the
cliff!”
    Megan looked shocked.
    “It’s OK. Sam turned us into gulls.”
    Megan looked only slightly less horrified. “Who was
chasing you?” she demanded.
    “Weirdos! Dressed in black, you know—Goths. There was
this girl, and she made the wind start blowing. Nearly blew us off the cliff—
”
    “The wind?” snapped Amergin, suddenly alert. “You
say she made the wind blow?”
    “That’s right,” agreed Sam. “She lifted her hand
up and the wind started blowing.”
    “Describe these . . . these Goths.”
    “Dressed all in black, pale faces, long hair, tall, and
thin—Goths. You know.” Charly shrugged.
    “Ah,” sighed Amergin. “This is grievous.”
    “Oh, dear,” whispered Charly to Sam, “He’s off
again.”
    “What is it, Amergin?” asked Sam.
    “There is one race, my friend,” began Amergin, “who
has the power to command the wind. The Hosts of the Air. They are known by some
as the Faery Folk, by others—”
    “Fairies!” spluttered Sam, almost choking on a chip.
    “These weren’t fairies. No wings, for a start.”
    Amergin chose to ignore him. “They are an ancient race,
cold and cruel. The Sidhe they were once, in ancient Ireland, and before that,
the Tuatha de Danaan.”
    “I know that name,” said Charly thoughtfully.
“You’ve mentioned them before.”
    “Aye, child, for my path and theirs have crossed.”
    Amergin fell silent, lost in thought.
    “There’s a story coming,” Sam whispered to Charly.
    “Get comfortable.” She kicked him under the table.
    “Long ago,” began Amergin, “as I have told, I came
to the land you know as Ireland with my people, the Sons of Mil. And we saw
that the land was fair and desired it. But a race dwelled there before us—the
Children of the Goddess Dana, the Tuatha de Danaan.”
    “So what did you do?” asked Charly.
    “We took their land from them,” Amergin replied
simply. “We slew them and took their land from them. And those we did not
slay, we drove underground. Into the Hollow Hills.”
    “Where’s that?” asked Sam.
    “The Hollow Hills are . . .” Amergin trailed off.
    “Here . . . and not here.”
    “Right. That’s cleared that up.”
    “Sam!” hissed Charly.
    “The Hollow Hills,” continued the wizard, glaring at
Sam, “are a realm separate from ours, touching upon it in some places but in
others far removed. There are gates, doorways into the hills, but once a man
enters, he can never know where—or when—he will emerge.”
    “So,” began Sam, “these fairies—the Sidhe—you
and your tribe took their land from them, right?”
    Amergin nodded.
    “And you killed most of them and drove the rest
underground somewhere?”
    Amergin nodded again, looking unhappy.
    “And you’re the last survivor of the Milesians, the
sons of Mil, yes?”
    Another nod.
    “So why are they chasing Charly and me? If they’ve got
an axe to grind with anyone, shouldn’t it be with you?”
    “It may be,” replied the wizard thoughtfully, “that
they are trying to get to me through you.”
    “Well,” said Charly, “could you arrange to have them
chase