Half Wild

  She holds me. And I close my eyes. And lying there is good and warm and smells nice and I say to myself that in the morning I’ll tell her about Kieran.

  She kisses me on my lips nervously, and a bit clumsily for Annalise. I kiss her back, pulling her body against me, and then she’s crying. And I know she’s crying with relief, at being alive, and I wipe her tears away. And she looks at me, her eyes sparkling. Her cheek is soft under my fingertips and under my lips and I kiss her face and neck and down her throat. And she kisses me too, in the same way, over my face. And we’re clinging together, my head against her chest, listening to her heart beating faster now, and I tell myself that she’s alive because of me and her heart beats because of me and that has to be good, that has to be good.

  Digging

  I wake up in bed, close to Annalise, so close that I can feel her warmth. I’m not used to sleeping with someone and it feels strange but nice too. She still smells of her but not so clean now, and I want to kiss her. I open my eyes. She’s smiling at me. She looks less pale.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “Better. A lot better. And you?”

  “I’m good. But hungry, though!”

  “As luck would have it Nesbitt just brought us some breakfast. I think he was using it as an excuse to meet me and to find out what we’re doing, but anyway it’s food and I’m starving too.”

  “I thought I heard someone.” Normally I’d wake up instantly at the sound of someone’s voice but for once I’ve been in a deep sleep.

  We eat the porridge—there’s enough for ten—and there’s jam, honey, and raisins. Annalise eats a large bowlful and lies back, saying she feels good but stinky.

  “You’re not stinky.”

  “I need a shower, though.” She gets up and walks to the door, saying, “I feel so much stronger. No dizziness.”

  I think that’s a hint that Annalise can get to the bathroom safely alone. I lie on the bed and while I’m waiting for her to come back I fall asleep again.

  I wake up as the door clicks open. I’m feeling revived, and pleased that I woke at the slightest sound, though I’m less pleased when I see it’s Nesbitt entering the room, not Annalise.

  “Had a good sleep, mate?” I’m sure he doesn’t expect a reply. He picks up the porridge stuff, saying, “Time’s marching on. You’ve got to get up.”

  “I’ll wait for Annalise.”

  “She’s with Van. You’ve been asleep for hours, mate. Annalise and Van are checking out the bunker—it’s a rabbit warren. And I’ve been getting the range going and tidying up the mess in the hall. And Gabriel”—he grins—“Gabriel has got the job of gravedigger and you’re going to be his assistant.”

  * * *

  Gabriel and I are digging on the hillside. It’s slow work. The ground is hard, dry and full of large stones and roots. We have to use a pick and an ax to break the earth before we can make any impression with the spades. It takes hours and is done in silence after I realize Gabriel isn’t going to reply to anything I say, which is about five minutes into the job.

  We finish late in the day as it begins to rain. The sky has darkened and a freezing wind has risen. The rain quickly turns to hail. I’m in the bottom of the bigger grave and I toss my spade out and ask Gabriel to help pull me up. I’m not sure if he’s making me wait or just leaving me but after a minute more of sleet I know I’m on my own. I clamber out, slipping in the mud and getting covered in it. Gabriel is sheltering under a tree, watching me. I want to say something about him and me, and about me and Annalise, but as usual I’ve no idea how to begin, so instead I say, “I get the feeling you’d like me to be in there permanently.” I indicate the grave with a nod of my head.

  He doesn’t even reply to that but asks me, “Are you going to join the Alliance?”

  “I said I would, and—”

  “Black Witches aren’t renowned for keeping their promises.”

  “I’m not a Black Witch, Gabriel. I’m half White. And I want to do what’s right. I think—”

  “And what do you think’s right about joining them?”

  “Soul is evil. He should be stopped . . . I told Annalise about the Alliance and she thinks their cause is right. She wants to join.”

  Gabriel scowls. “I bet she does. Except, of course, that stopping Soul will involve killing, lots of it. Being whiter than white, being on the side of good is fine and noble and I’m sure Annalise will love that. Until she sees it up close and personal.”

  “I don’t think either of us are under any illusions . . .”

  Gabriel turns his head away from me and we’re silent for a few moments. I’ve never seen him in a mood like this and I can tell it’s pointless trying to explain things. I pick up my spade to go back to the bunker.

  He stands in my way and says, “Talking of up close and personal . . . have you told her about you? Have you told her about your Gift?”

  “Yes . . . mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  I shrug.

  “And you’ve told her about Kieran?”

  I shake my head.

  “But you’re planning on telling her?”

  “Yes. Just not yet.”

  “I never had you down as a coward—so that shows how much I know about people.”

  “I’m trying to do my best with her, Gabriel. I’m rubbish at talking about stuff and I know I need to tell her but it’s hard. And we are talking; we’re talking about lots of things. You know me, and know my Black side so well, but Annalise sees the other side of me. And I admit I’m scared that she may never understand me or accept me like you do. I’m terrified of that. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know the other side of me, the good side. She’s always been able to see that. I want to be with her. I want to be good.”

  He looks at me. His face is dotted with raindrops but I think there are tears too.

  “I love her. I always have. You know that.”

  “And me?”

  And I know he means how I feel about him and me kissing him.

  “You’re my friend, Gabriel.”

  “Do you kiss all your friends like that?” But he asks it without the harshness of his other questions. It’s a real question.

  “Just you.”

  We’re silent. I want to say something but as ever words fail me completely and I daren’t reach out to him. I know that would be wrong.

  Gabriel says, “You know if we join the Alliance we’ll be lucky to end up in one of those.” He nods at the grave. “If we get caught we’ll be cut up into little bits, and I’m not sure what they do with the bits.” He jabs his spade at the ground and says, “I hope I do end up in a grave. My sister hasn’t got one—a grave, I mean.”

  I nod. “All the time they kept me in the cage, I knew they could kill me at any time, and if they caught my father then they’d kill me for sure. I thought they’d bury me by the cage. But I never thought I’d have a grave or mourners or anything. And now if I’m caught and tortured and . . . well, if it happens that way, if I die that way, then that’s what will happen. I don’t want it to and I’ll do what I can to make it not happen but, let’s face it, my life isn’t ever going to be peace and harmony. I can run wherever I want but they’ll come after me, Gabriel. Whether I join the Alliance or not. You know that.

  “I have a dream of a quiet life by a river but I can’t have it, at least not while Soul and Wallend are alive and there are Hunters in the world. I’ll always be looking over my shoulder and the Hunters’ll catch me sooner or later. I have to fight for the Alliance and hope that when it’s over I’ll have the life I want. A life without persecution, outside a cage. I’d like to have one day free like that. To think that nobody was after me. Nobody was hunting me. A day to enjoy. But first I have to fight.”

  “It’ll be bad, Nathan. The fighting.”

  “Mercury
once told me that I was made for killing. I’m sure she didn’t envisage I’d kill her. But I’m beginning to think she’s right. That is what I’m made for. That’s why I’m here.”

  Gabriel shakes his head. “No one’s made for killing. And you aren’t.”

  “And you? What will you do?”

  “If you fight then I fight too.”

  “If you don’t believe in it, Gabriel, don’t do it.”

  “I can’t not be with you, Nathan. I wanted to leave you in that grave and walk away and I couldn’t. I can’t walk ten paces away from you without it hurting me. I treasure every second with you. Every second. More than you know.” He looks down and then back up into my eyes. “I’ll be your friend forever. I’ll help you with each breath I take and I’ll stay with you. I love you, Nathan. From the day I met you, I loved you and I love you more each day.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “But that doesn’t mean I think you’re right about things. The Alliance won’t be interested in you apart from how many people you can kill. And I think you’ll kill lots. And as for the girl you say you love, who doesn’t know the first thing about you because you’re too afraid to tell her the truth—well, I think you’re right to be afraid because she will not understand you; she cannot. And the more you kill and the more she sees that half of you . . .” He shrugs. “I think she’ll end up dreading you.”

  And I think he’s finished but then he says, “As for me I’ll always love you. Even when I’m buried deep in one of those.” He nods at the grave. “I’ll still love you. Forever.”

  Gabriel goes into the bunker and I stand in the rain, letting it wash some of the mud from my clothes.

  The Fairborn Is Mine

  We’ve all found our way to the kitchen for food and warmth. Gabriel is speaking to me normally again and Annalise is beside me, though they haven’t actually spoken to each other yet. Annalise first met Gabriel in Geneva and sensed then that he didn’t like her. I’ve told her about his feelings for me, and she was surprised but said, “I thought he hated me because I was a White Witch. At least that explains things a little more.” I haven’t told her that he doesn’t trust her, that he thinks she’ll betray me.

  There’s a range in the kitchen, which is like the one in Celia’s house in Scotland, and I’m sitting in front of it, my boots propped up against it to dry. Steam is coming off my damp clothes. The kitchen is a surprise. There’s no fridge, no freezer, and definitely no microwave but there is a good store of food in the pantry. There are tins, pots, and jars. Three hams, strings of onions and garlic, a sack of potatoes, and shelves of round cheeses. And Nesbitt has found the wine store.

  “We’ll bury Mercury and Pers tomorrow morning. First thing,” Van says.

  “And after that? What are you going to do?” Gabriel asks her.

  Van looks at me and says, “There’s a meeting with the White rebel leaders in Basle in four days’ time. I’ll be going to that. I’d like you to come with me, Nathan, if you are joining us.”

  “I said I’d join you and I will. And you also said that you’d return the Fairborn to me.”

  “I did, didn’t I? And I rather expected you’d want it as soon as possible.” She takes her cigarette case out of her jacket and says, “Nesbitt, please give the Fairborn to Nathan.”

  Nesbitt takes the knife from a leather bag that is at Van’s feet. He holds it in his hand, looking at it. I know he’s not going to just hand it over; that would be too easy for Nesbitt. He looks at me and smiles but he’s holding it out to Gabriel. “You want it, Gabby?”

  Gabriel shakes his head.

  “Go on. Take it. Take the knife and stab me.”

  Gabriel smiles now. “That’s a tempting offer.” He reaches over and then hesitates and looks at me, suddenly cautious. “You’ve used it?”

  I nod. “Twice.” Once on myself and once on Jessica, and both times the knife felt like it had a life of its own. A soul of its own. And it was bent on cutting open everything.

  Nesbitt, grinning, is still holding out the knife.

  I say, “Please take that smile off his face, Gabriel. You’d be doing us all a favor.”

  Gabriel reaches for the Fairborn. His left hand is on the sheath and his right on the handle. He pulls. It looks odd, almost comic: Gabriel pulling and then tugging. The knife seems to be stuck in the sheath.

  “Won’t come out, will it?” Nesbitt says.

  Gabriel looks at me. “No.”

  Nesbitt takes it and makes a show of trying too.

  Van says, “It’s made for you, Nathan. For your family. It recognizes its owner and will only cut for you, your father, his father, and so on. It’s an extremely powerful object. The magic to do that—to recognize you, to last for a hundred years or more—is exceptional.”

  Nesbitt tosses the knife over to me. “So not much use to anyone but you.”

  I catch the Fairborn, stand, move round the table, and slide the blade out of its sheath in a second, putting the tip under Nesbitt’s chin. “It really wants to cut you, Nesbitt,” I say. Only I’m not just saying it: the knife does want to cut; it feels alive in my hand. There’s a darkness to it, a murderous quality. The Fairborn wants blood.

  There’s something too serious about the Fairborn to torment Nesbitt with it. I look at the knife. The handle is black, as is the blade, which is a strange, almost coarse metal with no shine to it, although it is razor-sharp. It’s heavy. I slide it into the sheath of worn black leather and the Fairborn reluctantly goes back. Then I slide it out and it almost rushes into my hand, and I force it in again and I’m getting the feel of it now. I let it slide out once more and then force it in hard.

  Scars

  It’s a bit like one of my old fantasies, only miles better, warmer and much sweatier than I ever thought it would be. I can’t move because I don’t want to wake Annalise. She’s curled up against me now but in the night we were tangled up, all legs and arms, and that was good and this is good. There’s nothing bad about this.

  When we woke in the night we were hot and caressing each other. She felt each of my scars. Looked at them. Asked me about them. I told her about each one. There are a lot, so it took a long time. Mostly I don’t mind talking about them. I told her about the tattoos as well and what Wallend did to me. The scars on my wrist are ugly but they’re just scars. The tattoos are a sort of reminder to me of how bad the Council is. I don’t really need reminding but there’s nothing I can do to get rid of them. The scars on my back are different again. They look the worst. I guess they are the worst.

  She said, “That day changed everything. I had no idea what Kieran was going to do. But when he told me to run home, I did. I thought I could tell my mum and dad, that they’d stop him, not for your sake but for Kieran’s, so he wouldn’t get into trouble.

  “But I got home and Dad wouldn’t listen. He approved of what Kieran was doing. Mum just went along with everything he said, as usual. Dad told me that I’d been warned not to see you or speak to you. They said that Kieran was protecting me and he was behaving like a good brother should. And Dad said that he must do what a good father should do too, and make me realize that you were evil. He told me you were as bad as any Black Witch, possibly worse, as you’re the son of Marcus. He said that you couldn’t be trusted, that I was an innocent girl, an innocent White Whet, who you were bound to prey on. He went on and on and on. How you couldn’t be trusted, how you’d grow up into a Black Witch, how your nature was undoubtedly Black, how . . .” She hesitated. “How your mother was evil too and in fact worse than Marcus because she should have known better and, because of her, her husband was killed and you were born. She’d ruined her good family name and more than anything my dad didn’t want me to end up like her, like your mother. And of course he loved me and he was acting out of love, and he was locking me in my bedroom because he loved me.

  “I think I h
ate him for his stupidity more than anything,” she added.

  I asked, “Do you think your father really does love you? I mean . . . I know it sounds like he doesn’t but . . .”

  “No. He just said the words but made no effort to understand me. It was all about him. He said he was going to lock me up until I realized how wrong I was to deceive my family, to meet you. Mum came and talked to me, saying the same stuff as Dad had said.” Tears filled Annalise’s eyes.

  “When she made no progress with me my father let Connor into my room to talk to me, hoping he would bring me round. Connor was always the only one I could talk to. He can be so gentle but Kieran and Naill push him around and he tries to be like them, tries to please Dad.”

  Connor was the weaker of the three brothers, the one I beat up at school, even though he was two years older than me.

  Annalise carried on. “Connor persuaded me to at least say that I was sorry. He said if I didn’t I’d never leave the house again. He said, ‘Apologize, have your Giving, and then run away.’ I knew he was right. My father would keep me locked up forever if he had to, so I pretended I was sorry. I said they were right, that I had been bad, been fooled by you. I promised to be good. I had to apologize to my dad, my mum, and each of my brothers in turn. They said I’d never be allowed anywhere without one of them being with me.”

  She shrugged. “It took years but that’s how I escaped in the end. Connor was guarding me and he let me get away. I wanted him to come too but he wouldn’t.”

  I said, “I should be grateful to Connor then.” But I didn’t feel that. I still despised the lot of them.

  Annalise stroked my back gently and said, “Kieran told me what they’d done to you. He showed me a photo of you that he’d taken on his phone. You were unconscious; the blood was bubbling on your back.”

  I nearly interrupted her to tell her Kieran was dead. But still it didn’t feel like the right time.