The Firehills by Steve Alten Page A

was Mr.
Macmillan.
    “Ah, good evening,” he rasped, forcing a smile.
“Poring over the map, are we?” He seemed suddenly very interested, peering
down with his head on one side, attempting to read the inverted place names.
    Sam began to fold the map up. “Just finished,
actually,”
    he said coldly, putting the map back with the brochures.
    “Yes, well,” said Mr. Macmillan awkwardly, “jolly
good. I’ll leave you to it.” And with another unconvincing smile, he left.
    Sam stared at the door for a while, unnerved by the
stranger’s visit, but soon his thoughts returned to his dilemma. He
couldn’t just sit back and leave Amergin to the mercy of the Sidhe. After
all, what was the point in being a hero if you didn’t . . . well, do heroic
things? But what, exactly, was he to do in this particular situation? In the
past, he’d usually had Amergin on hand to offer advice, except in his final
battle against the Malifex. But now, starting from scratch with only Mrs.
P.’s old books and the wizard’s final cry to guide him . . . Well, he
didn’t feel particularly heroic. He was about to give up and go to his room
when Charly appeared.
    “Well?” she said, flopping down in an old armchair.
    “Well what?”
    “You’re going to do it, right?”
    “Do what?”
    “That’s what I like about you, your sparkling
conversation. Rescue Amergin! You’re going to rescue Amergin, aren’t
you?”
    “Err . . .” Sam looked uncertain.
    “Oh, come on! You know you are. What’s the plan?”
    Sam smiled. “Haven’t really got one yet,” he
admitted.
    “Business as usual, then.” Charly grinned at him. Sam
made a face.
    “We need to find a gate,” said Charly decisively,
“into the Hollow Hills. Where’s the nearest barrow?”
    “Wilmington.”
    “Sorry?”
    “Wilmington. Start of the South Downs. Other side of
Eastbourne.” Sam looked smug.
    “I’m impressed! You’re getting good at this, nature
boy.” Charly jumped to her feet. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s
go!”
    “We can’t just go. ” Sam
sighed. “It’s getting late. It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
    “Never stopped us before. Go get some warmer clothes and
meet me back here. Come on! Move it!”
    Sam looked at the floor for a moment, then grinned up at
Charly. “You’re a very bad influence, you know that?”
    He scrambled to his feet.
    “Yeah, and you love it!” Charly called after him as he
headed for the stairs.

    ‡

    Ten minutes later, they let themselves quietly out of the
front door and walked swiftly down the garden path. Charly had raided the
kitchen on the way out, and they gulped down sandwiches as they walked. Just
before the iron gate, they paused, and Charly turned to Sam. “ Well,” she asked, “how shall we travel?”
    Sam looked thoughtful. “We need something fast, and we
need to navigate. I know. Let’s try this.” He closed his eyes.
    Charly concentrated. Since her own tentative experiment with shape-shifting, she had been intrigued by the
idea. She tried desperately to memorize the sensation as the world seemed to
shimmer and recede, and then all concentration was lost as she tumbled toward
the ground. She gave a flick of her wings and saw the bricks of the path blur
and drop away as she swooped high into the air. Ahead, she could see Sam, a
dark-brown speck wheeling against the blue sky. His wings were incredibly long
and narrow compared to the size of his body, a shape made with speed in mind.
With dazzling agility, the two swifts chased each other around the chimneys of
the guesthouse, screaming like the damned, and then with a flick of those
rapier wings, Sam was off, arrowing into the west.

    ‡

    They kept the sea to their left at first, arcing and
swooping through the sky, reveling in the sensation of flight. The feeling of
speed was breathtaking. It was quite unlike anything Charly had ever
experienced before, and she wanted it, craved the power for her own. After a
while, Sam tilted his