Half Bad (27 page)

Hey, everyone, I’m nearly seventeen!

But where is everyone?

Where’s Gabriel?

“Rose, where is Gabriel?”

She doesn’t even giggle.

It’s silent again.

And where am I?

My map! Where’s my map?

And I had some drinks, didn’t I?

I have the Fairborn, though. Yes, I have the Fairborn.

And I have a stream. Don’t need drinks. I have a stream. This was a good place to stop. A good place.

Let’s have a look at the lump.

Not good.

Yellow, very yellow, with a little scar and lots of red veins.

Not good. Not good.

If I touch it . . .

F***!

* * *

Rose is back. She’s dancing around me. She bends over and looks at the lump on my side. “Yuck! You really need to cut that out.”

“Where’s Gabriel?”

She blushes but doesn’t reply and I shout, “Where’s Gabriel?”

Silence.

It’s getting dark.

I look at the lump. I think it’s still growing.

I’m just going to be one big lump soon.

What day is it?

I can’t think. Can’t think.

“Rose, what day is it?”

No one answers. Then I remember Rose is dead.

The lump is full of poison . . . Gabriel said it was poison . . . it’s poisoning me . . .

It has to go.

Just cut it out.

I hold the Fairborn. It wants to do it.

* * *

It’s light. I’m lying on the ground by a stream. I’m aching but not as bad as before.

Did I cut into the lump?

I can’t remember.

I look down and my shirt is open and covered in dried blood and dried yellow stuff. Lots of yellow stuff. There’s no lump, though.

The stream water tastes good and I’m feeling better. My head’s clear. I’ve drunk lots of water, a stream-full. My wound isn’t too bad now I’ve cleaned the last of the yellow pus out. There’s still a bit of swelling but nothing much. My body doesn’t ache so much. Maybe the poison has gone but the bullet’s still in there so maybe more poison will come out. The worst must be over though as I’m feeling so much better.

I’m not sure what day it is but I think it’s my birthday.

It must be. I’m seventeen.

I AM SEVENTEEN!

And I’m feeling good. I can make it. Don’t need a map now. I recognize the mountains.

I set off and then realize I don’t have the Fairborn. I have the knife that Gabriel gave me, but not the Fairborn.

I run and stumble back to the stream to look for it.

There’s where I cut myself. There’s all the pus. The Fairborn has to be here. I cut myself with the Fairborn. I was by the stream and I stabbed my lump and . . . when I woke up the Fairborn had gone.

I don’t have time for this. I have to go to Mercury’s. Forget the Fairborn. I don’t want it. If I maintain a steady pace I’ll get to Mercury’s just after it gets dark.

The rain is back, heavy drizzle and feeling cooler now. I’m walking up the valley along the road. It’s quicker on the road and I need to be quicker. Only a few cars pass by, their headlights dazzling me, but I stick to the road through three small mountain villages and then cut up the mountain itself. I know the trail but the going is slow as it’s sodden and slippery. Still, I’ll be there in less than an hour of hiking.

I have a pain in my ribs but it’s not as bad as before. I don’t heal it. Maybe the healing made things worse. I don’t know but I can put up with this. I’m going to make it. I will get my three gifts and I will help Annalise.

As I get higher the rain turns to sleet and then to snow. Thick snow. The flakes are huge and seem to parachute slowly. I’m high in the mountains but even so this is far too cold for June. The snow is thick on the ground, up to my knees, and it is slowing me but only a little as it’s so light and powdery that I don’t take huge steps but just brush through it. I look back at the trail I’m leaving but it’s not obvious: the snow is light and collapses on to my tracks, almost as if it’s smoothing itself over. I keep thinking I must be near the cottage but there are no lights anywhere except behind me.

I reach the broken tree trunk, its fractured, splintered ends so sharp and thin that little snow has settled on them. I should be able to see the lights from the cottage.

I speed up and then slow down for the last twenty meters. The cottage is in darkness and I go along its side wall and down the far side to the door. As I am about to go in there is a flash, small and distant below and to the left in the valley. Then sound arrives. A shot. And another. Then lightning followed by thunder. Mercury is fighting the Hunters.

The Hunters must have found the cut, but they wouldn’t have been able to get off the roof if they came through that way. They will have worked out where the cottage is, though; they’d be able to do that. And then they came up the valley. They must have only been a bit ahead of me. And then another thought hits me: if they captured Gabriel and tortured him he would tell them where the valley was . . .

I can’t think about that. I have to find Mercury. I have to head to the shots. Mercury must be there. There’s a swirling cloud in the valley below me, toward the glacier. A flash of lightning shoots out of it. It’s her.

But first I have to see if Annalise is here. I don’t know how much time I have left. Not long.

In the cottage everything is neat and tidy. My things are as I left them. So are Gabriel’s. He’s not been back.

I check the bedrooms.

I don’t know what I expected but I was hoping Annalise would at least be here. She’s not. Mercury must have taken her to her castle, and I don’t know where that is. Is she still asleep? Maybe she woke her . . . but I know she won’t have done.

I put on my jacket and look at the clock in the kitchen. I can work out the time if I try hard enough.

It’s later than I thought. Just a bit more than ten minutes to midnight. I think that’s right.

Or just a bit less. I’ll reach Mercury in time if I run.

I dash outside and take two steps in the direction of the shots. Then I am stopped; I can’t move forward.

The snow is falling around me but the flakes are slowing too . . . and then they stop. The snowflakes hang in the blackness of the night air.

Everything around me has stopped, and all I can do is drop to my knees in thanks.

My father.

I know it’s him. Only he can make time stop.

And I’m kneeling in stillness and silence. There are snowflakes hanging in the air, veils upon veils, and the ground around me is snow-covered and gray in the gloom. I can’t even see the forest ahead of me.

And then there’s a gap.

Him.

A darker figure in the darkness, flakes of snow hanging in front of him.

He comes closer, flicking a snowflake out of his way with his finger and blowing another gently as he breathes out. He comes closer still, walking not flying, the snow up to his knees.

He stops in front of me, sweeps the snow away with a sideways kick, and comes down to my level, sitting cross-legged a few arm-lengths away.

I can’t see his face, only his silhouette. I think he’s in a suit.

“Nathan, at last.”

His voice is calm and sounds like mine only more . . . thoughtful.

“Yes,” I say, and my voice doesn’t sound like mine but like a little boy’s.

“I’ve wanted us to meet. For a long time I’ve wanted that,” he says.

“And I’ve wanted it too.” Then I add, “For seventeen years.”

“Is that what it is? Seventeen years . . .”

“Why didn’t you come before now?”

“You’re angry with me.”

“A little.”

He nods.

“Why didn’t you come before?” I sound pathetic but I’m so exhausted that I don’t care.

“Nathan, you are just seventeen. That’s very young. When you’re older you’ll realize that time can move differently. Slower sometimes . . . faster occasionally.” He circles his arm round now and swirls the snowflakes until they form a strange sort of galaxy that drifts up and up until it disappears.

And it’s amazing. Watching my father, his power. My father, here, so close to me. But still, he should have come years ago.

“I don’t care how time moves. I said, why didn’t you come before now?”

“You are my son, and I expect a certain amount of respect from you . . .” He seems to breathe in and then out with a long exhalation that disperses a few more snowflakes hovering low to the ground in front of him.

“And you are my father and I expect a certain amount of responsibility from you.”

He makes a sort of laugh. “Responsibility?” His head inclines to the right and then straightens again. “It’s not a word I’m used to dealing with . . . And you? Are you familiar with respect at all?”

I hesitate but say, “Not that much up to now.”

He waits, picks up some snow and sprinkles it from his fingers.

He says, “Mercury was going to give you three gifts, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“What did she want in return?”

“Some information.”

“That sounds cheap for Mercury.”

“She wanted something else as well.”

“Let me guess . . . it’s not hard: she wanted my demise. Mercury is very predictable.”

“I’ve no intention of killing you. I told her that.”

“And she accepted it?”

“She seemed to think I’d change my mind.”

“Ah! I’m sure she would have fun trying to change it.”

“You believe me then? I won’t kill you.”

“I’m not sure what to believe yet.”

And I’m not sure what to say. You never ask someone to give you three gifts. Never. And I cannot ask him, but if he has come now, on my seventeenth birthday, then he must be here for that. Surely?

“What information did she want?”

“Stuff about the Council and my tattoos. I haven’t told her anything.”

“I’m not fond of tattoos.”

I stick my hand out, show him the one on my hand and the one on my finger. They are a blue-black and my skin looks milky white in the darkness. “They planned to use my finger to make a witch’s bottle. To force me to kill you.”

“Lucky for me that you still have your finger. Lucky for you that you didn’t tell Mercury. I think she would have taken your finger.”

“She wanted the Fairborn too.”

“Ah, yes . . . where is the Fairborn?”

“Rose stole it from Clay but . . . things went wrong. She was shot by the Hunters. I lost the Fairborn.”

Silence.

He looks down, pinches his nose between his eyes. “And inevitably this is where I find things a little harder to believe. Where exactly did you lose it?”

“In the forest on the way here.” And the pain in my side stabs me so that I shiver. “I was poisoned or something.”

“What’s happened? Are you hurt?” he asks, leaning toward me. He sounds concerned. Concerned! And I want to cry with relief.

“A Hunter shot me. I heal it but it keeps coming back. The bullet’s still in there.”

“We need to get it out.”

“It hurts.”

“No doubt.” He sounds amused now. “Show me.”

I open my jacket and shirt.

“Take them off. Lie on the snow.”

As I take my shirt off he gets up, walks around me, and picks up the knife Gabriel gave me.

“What are these?” And he traces his fingers over my back. The touch of his skin on mine is strange. His hands are as cold as the snow.

“Scars.”

“Yes.” He laughs again but I can only just hear. “Who made them?”

“Kieran O’Brien, a Hunter. A long time ago.”

“Some think a millennium isn’t a long time.” He runs his rough palm over my back and his touch is strangely gentle.

“So . . . Lie back. Keep still.”

He doesn’t hurry.

I clench my jaw; my flesh feels like it’s being ripped off my rib, like pulling chicken meat off a bone. The meat is attached surprisingly strongly.

I start to count. After nine the numbers become swear words.

Then the pain stops.

“The bullet was lodged behind the bone. It was hard to reach. You can heal now.”

I do and I can tell he is watching how quickly my skin knits together.

I’m buzzing; already my healing is better with the bullet out of me.

I start to push myself up and my father grabs my hair, pulling my head up and forcing me onto my front. His knee is in my back and the knife is at my throat. He strokes the flat of the blade over my skin, then turns it so the edge is pressed against my neck. I’m not cut yet.

“Your life is mine, Nathan.”

The blade is so close that I daren’t swallow. I’m arching back so far I could snap.

“However, I’m in a giving mood, so please accept your life as a gift from me today.”

He lets my hair go and my head and body drop forward. And I’m on my hands and knees in the snow wondering, Is he going to do it? Does that count as a gift? What time is it now?

I turn and he’s sitting cross-legged near me. He’s in a suit but he isn’t wearing a tie; his top button is undone. His face is darkness.

I put my shirt on and sit cross-legged opposite him.

He holds the bullet out to me. “For you . . . another gift. Perhaps it will remind you to be more careful around Hunters.”

The bullet is round, a metallic green, with markings cut into it.

“Fain science mixed with witch magic. Not elegant, but like so many things, it can still kill you.”

The way he says it I know he’s talking about me.

“I won’t kill you. Mary told me about your vision. I won’t kill you.”

“We’ll see.” He leans toward me, his voice low. “Time will tell.”

“Mercury won’t give up, though.”

“She thinks I wronged her. And I suppose I did. And she will think I led the Hunters here, but you can tell her I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to her. The Hunters are very good, Nathan. They don’t need me to help them. Tell her that they have found a way of detecting her cuts in space. She will have to be more careful in future.”

“I’ll tell Mercury, if I see her. But . . .”

Doesn’t he want me to go with him?

Silence. Stillness. Snowflakes waiting.

“What now?” I ask.

“Between me and you?”

I nod.

“I’m not a great believer in prophecies, Nathan, but I am a cautious man. So I suggest you keep away from Hunters and take care not to lose your finger, as you say that you have lost the Fairborn.”

“But . . .”

And I can’t ask him if I can go with him. He’s my father. But I can’t ask. He would say if he wanted me.

“Why did you never come for me?”

“I thought you were doing fine. I caught glimpses in visions. You did well enough on your own. I saw nothing after they took you away. They had you well hidden, even from visions. But you escaped. I’m pleased about that, Nathan, for both our sakes.”

He looks at his wrist but I don’t see a watch there.

“It’s time for me to go.”

He pulls a ring from his finger and takes my right hand, slides it on to the index finger.

“For you, my father’s ring, and his father’s before him.”

He takes the knife and cuts his palm and holds his hand out.

“My blood is your blood, Nathan.”

And his hand is there, his flesh, his blood. Carefully I take his hand with both of mine. His skin is rough and cold, and I raise his hand to my lips and drink his blood. And as I suck and swallow I hear the strange words that he whispers in my ear. His blood is strong and sweet and warm in my throat and my chest and stomach, and the words curl into my head, intertwine with my blood, making no sense but wrapping me in what I know, and I smell the earth and feel its pulse through my body, through my father’s body and from his father before and his father before that, and at last I know who I am.

As I let his hand go I look up and see his eyes.

My eyes.

Marcus gets to his feet and says, “I take my responsibilities as a father seriously.”

And as he moves back, the snowflakes begin to slowly, slowly fall again. The wind strengthens, buffeting me and picking up the snow from the ground. I can only just hear Marcus say, “I hope we meet again, Nathan.”

And the snowflakes are falling more thickly, and the wind has built to a gale, and the snow is a white blur around the two of us.

The snowflakes fly in my face and he’s gone.

* * *

The ring is heavy. It is thick, warm. I can’t make out the shapes on it in the poor light. I turn it around my finger and feel its weight and then I kiss it and whisper thanks. I am a witch.

I have met my father. Too briefly, but I have met him. And I think he must know that I don’t mean to kill him. He would not have given me three gifts if he believed that. My head feels clear, good. It’s an unusual feeling. I realize I’m smiling.

Then the sky above me fills with lightning and thunder drums the air.