Half Wild (20 page)

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.

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 hate 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.

Annalise said, “When I saw the photo I knew then I had to get out. I knew I could never live with people who were so cruel. I realized I’d have to wait but eventually I’d have the chance to get away. I was so unhappy but every day I got through it by thinking of you. I knew you were alive. That kept me going.”

And I pulled her to me and held her.

“At times I almost gave up. I never dreamed you and I would be together again, and like this: free.”

I said, “When I was imprisoned I had different thoughts that kept me going. Thoughts of the good people in my life: Arran, Deborah, Gran, and you. And I had this special dream for the future. And in this fantasy future I’d live in this wonderful, beautiful valley by a stream and life would be peaceful. And I’d fish and hunt and live quietly.” I hesitated but managed to go on. “I still dream of that. Of living somewhere quiet and beautiful . . . and of being with you.”

“It sounds perfect.” She kissed me again. “When you talk about rivers and mountains, you change. You’re different then. I think that’s your true self. That’s how I love to think of you, at peace with nature and truly happy. Truly free.”

* * *

As I lie here now with her in my arms, remembering that conversation, I know that although we seem different we’re not. She was alone and a prisoner too.

We’re standing round the graves. Gabriel, Nesbitt, and I have lowered the bodies in, still wrapped up in the tapestries. Van and Annalise have joined us.

“Would you like to share any words of remembrance, Gabriel?” Van says. “Perhaps you might say something for Mercury. You knew her best.”

Gabriel stands straighter and says something in French. I think it’s a poem. It sounds nice and isn’t too long. Then he spits on the ground and says, in English, “Mercury was a coward, cruel and slightly mad, but she loved her sister, Mercy, and she loved Rose. Mercury was a great Black Witch. The world is less for her passing.” He picks up some dirt and throws it, rather than scatters it, into the grave.

“Nice, Gabby, nice,” Nesbitt says, and shuffles his feet. He picks up some dirt and shakes it in his hand as if he’s going to throw dice. “Mercury, you were one in a million. The world is duller but a lot safer without you.” He tosses the dirt into the grave. He turns to Pers’s grave. “And you were a nasty little piece of work. I wish I’d shot you the first time I saw you.”

Van also picks up a handful of earth. “Perhaps, in the future, witches like Mercury will be able to live more peacefully. Pers was a young whet doing what she thought was right.” Van throws the grains of soil over both graves.

I pick up some dirt and scatter it in Mercury’s grave. She was amazing. Wonderful in her violent way but I killed her and there are no words I want to say. But I remember her love for Rose and I pick up more dirt and throw that down on the ground too, for Rose. And I pick up more dirt and throw it into Pers’s grave for her and for Pilot. Then I pick up more for all the Blacks killed by each other and by Whites, for all who are dead and gone. I toss it in the air and watch it fall.

I say nothing. I can’t find words for all that; there are none.

Nesbitt is watching with a bemused look. Annalise stands beside me. She stays quiet and still. Van goes into the bunker and Annalise touches my arm to tell me that she’s going in too.

Gabriel gets the spades that are lying by the entrance. He throws one to me and we start to fill in the graves.