Read Online The Firehills by Steve Alten - Free Book Online

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winds. Windsmith used ter go round, studyin’ the wind, learnin’ its ways,
an’ givin’ advice to them as wanted ter build windmills. Could almost see
the wind, some o’ they old windsmiths.”
    “I see,” said Sam, exchanging a glance with Charly
that said, Let’s get out of here. “Well, we
better get going. Goodbye.”
    The stranger fixed Sam with an odd look, almost pleading.
“Think on it, lad,” he said. “A windsmith, a man as reads the wind or a
man holdin’ open a doorway. Think on it.”
    Charly pulled Sam away by the arm. “Come on,” she
hissed. “He’s weird.”
    Sam stumbled after her, looking back over his shoulder at
the figure on the bank. He had returned to his sandwich, all signs of his
recent intensity vanished. They continued along the track, warm now in the late
afternoon sun. The pathway looped across the field in a wide curve, taking them
far out of their way before swinging back to the foot of the carved figure.
    “Come on,” said Sam, “let’s cut the corner
off—it’ll take forever otherwise.” With that, he set off into the field
of young barley.
    “Walk in the tramlines, you idiot!” Charly shouted
after him.
    “Eh?” Sam looked puzzled.
    “The tramlines—the tractor tracks!” Charly pointed
down to the parallel strips of bare earth left by the wheels of the tractor
that had sown the crop.
    “Oh, right.” Sam hopped sideways, looking embarrassed.
As they shuffled side by side through the knee-high barley, a thought occurred
to Sam. He glanced back across the field and saw that the stranger had risen to
his feet. Lost in the haze of distance, he seemed to be staring steadily back
at Sam. In each hand he held a long staff.
    “That’s it!” exclaimed Sam.
    Charly paused in her tramline and looked back at him.
    “What now?”
    “What he was trying to tell us!”
    “Come on, spill the beans. Time’s passing.”
    “The gates into the Hollow Hills are linked to the
elements, according to Mrs. P.’s book—earth, fire, air, and water. And
here”—he gestured up at the hillside ahead—
    “we’ve got a windsmith, a man who studies the wind,
OK?
    The air? Standing in a doorway.”
    “You mean . . . ?”
    “Yup, I’m sure that’s the Gate of Air, where the
Long Man is standing. Come on!” Sam strode off toward the foot of the slope,
the barley hissing against his pants as he walked.
    “How are you going to open it?” Charly called after
him.
    “Well,” Sam shouted back over his shoulder. “I could
go up and knock three times, like it says in the book, but somehow I don’t
think that’s how Amergin would do it. I think he’d be able to open it from
here.”
    Sam stopped in his tramline and raised his arm, fingers
splayed. “Let’s see what I can do!” Eyes closed, he sent out his mind, probing the earth of the hillside. The short
grass and the thin, chalky soil tasted familiar to him, comforting, like
putting on a favorite sweater. He cast about, moving the focus of his
consciousness upward, until he encountered the base of the Long Man. His mind
shied away from something strange, alien. He rolled the new sensation around in
his brain, getting to know it, letting it wash over him. And when he was
comfortable with it, he thrust forward, searching for weaknesses. Yes, he thought to himself, I see. With a flick of his will, it was done. Opening his eyes, he saw that a
vertical line was shooting through the grass of the hillside, upward from the
giant’s feet. With a deep, subterranean rumbling and the sound of tearing
roots, the earth began to part. But something was wrong. All around him, the
air was starting to shimmer. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood
up, and his head was buzzing, the pressure building.
    “Charly, get back!” he shouted, and then there was a
loud crack, close by. Looking up, he saw a sphere of intense violet light,
hovering just above his head, rotating at incredible speed. With another sharp snap, three