Half Wild (12 page)

We’re climbing up steep, bare rocks. Gabriel is above me and he helps me onto a narrow ledge, pulling me up until I stand next to him so that our arms are touching. I look around. We’re in the mountains: Switzerland, judging by the green slopes below and the snow-capped peaks in the distance.

“They’re coming.” Gabriel points down into the valley at the numerous black specks, like ants crawling around below, but crawling in our direction.

“We need to go,” I say, and turn to head up the mountain.

“How far is it?” Gabriel asks.

“Just over this peak,” I say. “Not far.” And somehow I know I’m right. If we get over the peak we’ll be safe. We’ll find the way back on the other side.

I set off and for once I’m faster at climbing than Gabriel. He’s falling behind. But it’s an easy route and I know he’ll catch up. I’m nearly at the top when a gray mist descends. There are narrow paths, each looking the same, each about thirty centimeters wide, like a spider’s web through the rocks. I follow one and it leads to a cliff edge and then I follow another and reach a different cliff edge. I run back but I’ve no idea which way I came up or which way is down.

“Gabriel!” I call. “Gabriel!”

“Here!” a voice replies but I know it isn’t him.

I run in panic and see a figure in the mist and then stop and retrace my steps as I know it’s another Hunter. I run in a different direction and call again for him and someone replies but again I know it’s not Gabriel.

I stop and calm myself. I know I can work it out. I follow a path as far as it goes, scramble over a long, flat boulder, jump down, and reach two large standing stones, squeezing between them. The mist clears for a few seconds and I see the valley below. A new green valley without any Hunters in it. The path is steep but easy to run down. I shout for Gabriel.

He doesn’t answer.

“I’ve found the way!” I shout. “I’ve found it!”

I wait and wait.

“Gabriel?”

Nothing happens. The mist sits there as thick and gray as before.

I know I must go back for him. I tell myself that I’ll remember this path, over the flat boulder and between the two standing stones. I creep back, keeping low, hoping that if Hunters are here I’ll be able to steal between them without being seen. Black shapes move and disappear and I dodge back. I take a different path and hear a grunt and I know it’s Gabriel. I know they’ve got him and are hurting him. I move forward and hear another grunt to my right and I follow it. Further to my right I see one black shape standing over another and I know it’s Kieran. He has a gun in his hand and looks up at me as I approach. I say to myself that Kieran is dead and he can’t hurt me and he can’t hurt Gabriel.

Gabriel is lying on the ground at his feet.

Kieran kicks him hard and Gabriel groans and rolls onto his front. His eyes open, fix on me, and he says, “Nathan.”

Kieran presses the barrel of his gun to the back of Gabriel’s skull.

I can do nothing but plead and plead and plead. I say, “Please, no. Please.” And in my head I’m saying that Kieran is dead, it isn’t real, Kieran is dead.

Kieran says, “But you killed me. So now I get my revenge.” And he pulls the trigger and—

Van is pulling the old stake out. Gabriel is sitting close to me, his head down. He’s covered in sweat. I am too.

I say, “I found the way but we have to stay together.”

He mumbles, “Yes, together.”

Van gives us each another dose of the potion. She helps Gabriel hold his cup as he drinks. It’s getting light now but I’m not sure what day it is or how long we’ve been here.

Van pushes the stake through the wound left by the previous one and everything now is sore and hot and aching, and I grab the stake when it appears out of Gabriel’s hand.

“We stay together,” I say but I feel my voice is faint and I’m falling forward.

* * *

I wake up lying on the ground in a forest. The trees are not so old but tall and thin. Silver birch.

“France,” Gabriel says. “Verdon.” And his voice sounds happy.

“Your favorite place,” I say.

Neither of us moves. I just want to be here in this special place and watch the trees.

“Take me to Wales,” he says. “Your favorite place.”

I’m about to say it’s too dangerous when I realize that I can do it. I want to show him the place I love. I want to go back there. I stand and Gabriel stands with me, my hand holding his. The hillside slopes down in front of us and I ask, “What’s that way?”

“The gorge,” Gabriel replies.

I don’t know how to get to Wales and I look around and wonder if there are any Hunters hiding in the trees.

“Have you seen any Hunters?” I ask.

“No,” he replies.

“Do you know the way to Wales?”

“No. You show me.”

But I don’t know which way to go: the gorge is too steep to climb down and the rest is just woodland and scrub.

I stand there. Wales is north but hundreds of miles away. We could go that way, though. There are no Hunters; there’s nothing to stop us. I’ve just got to choose the direction and lead the way. And still I stand there. I have the strangest feeling. A feeling I never thought I’d have. For a few seconds, I want my cage back, so I don’t have to make any decisions. But I’ve escaped from the cage. And as soon as I remember that, as soon as I realize I’m free to go where I want, I feel the animal adrenaline in me and I know what to do.

I run.

I’m holding on tight to Gabriel’s hand and running fast, through the forest and down the slope. We’re going faster and faster and the only thing ahead of me is the gorge. And I push harder and faster, gripping Gabriel’s fingers, and as I get nearer I see how wide and deep the gorge is. I hear him in my head, the other me, the animal me, and I want to laugh as he roars at me, not in fear or terror but as if to say, “Yes!” All I can do is run faster and faster and leap off the edge and reach forward. Somehow I find a cut in the air and I’m sucked through it, still holding on to Gabriel and hearing the animal in me roaring. And we are swirled through the black tunnel of the cut, quickly spinning into the light, which hits us as hard as the ground.

We’re on a mountainside and the smell of it, the air, the dampness, the light—everything says that I’m back in Wales. The hillside is grass-covered with some bare stones and to our right a small stream tinkers its way down. Gabriel is still holding my hand and I look at it and see that he is bound to me with the leather strap and the stake is there too.

We go to the stream and drink. The water is pure and clear and cold. I’m home. The animal in me knows it too. And I think I know what to do.

I take hold of the stake and drive it into the earth by my side. Nothing happens. The animal in me howls a complaint. The earth is the right way but I’ve not done it properly yet. I hold Gabriel’s hand tight and look in his eyes and pull him to me. Our clasped hands are between us, the stake is between us, over each of our hearts. And I tell him, “This is the way back.” Then I push Gabriel away from me and fall forward and feel the stake enter my chest—my heart—at the same time as it enters the earth and the animal’s heart too. The earth and my blood and spirit mingle. And the earth holds me and something is returning up the wooden stake into my wound and between it all is Gabriel’s hand, still held in mine.

* * *

I open my eyes and see Gabriel looking at me. His eyes are those of a Black Witch. Dark brown with gold and chocolate flecks twisting and fading and exploding.

Gabriel, the new Gabriel, showers first. We’ve gone back to his room. I’ve healed my hand and now have a round wound on both the back of my hand and my palm to add to the other scars. I healed it in a few seconds. Gabriel’s hand healed too. I watched. It took him about twenty minutes but it would take a fain weeks. He was grinning the whole time. I think from the buzz of healing and also the buzz of being himself.

He’s a bit unsteady on his feet but insists that washing is more important than food. I’m spaced out with lack of food and sleep but more than wanting food or a shower I want to be with Gabriel. He’s so pleased, so confident. So Gabriel.

Van enters the bedroom. “You did well, Nathan. And you’ll be pleased to hear that I want to move on quickly. I need to get to an Alliance meeting in Barcelona by tomorrow. We leave after breakfast.”

The door to the ensuite opens slightly and Gabriel stands there, a section of him revealed, bare-chested with a towel round his waist, damp hair, big grin, and eyes that are coffee-bean brown with gold twists moving leisurely around the irises.

“I get the feeling this discussion isn’t just about what’s for breakfast,” he says.

“Nathan will tell you,” Van replies. “We’re leaving soon but first food and a small celebration—it’s not often that the potion works.” And she walks out of the room.

“I think that’s her idea of a joke,” I say, turning back to Gabriel.

“Yep,” he agrees and opens the door fully. “So, what do you think?”

“Of the new you?”

He nods. “The original version.” He holds his arms out and does a slow turn so I can see him from all angles.

“You’re . . . remarkably like the fain version. Except that your grin is so wide it’s going to break your face open.”

He just grins even more.

“But your eyes are different, really different. And there’s something else. Turn again.” I watch him closely and I try to analyze it but there’s nothing I can actually point to. “I guess it’s the way that Black Witches move but I can’t say exactly what it is.” He’s hardly moving anyway but something about the way he holds himself is different. “You look more comfortable in your skin, more relaxed.” I shrug. “But I’m not sure it’s that; you always look comfortable.”

He turns back to me and controls his grin. “Thank you. From you, that’s a great compliment.”

“I’m not paying compliments. I’m just trying to describe you.”

“And what I’m trying to say is that”—he hesitates and even, I think, blushes a little—“you’re very comfortable in your body.”

“Me?” For someone who’s normally so right about people, he couldn’t be more wrong.

“I thought I understood you before but now I realize more than ever how strong a witch you are,” he says. “Your real Gift is your connection to the physical world and when we went to Wales—”

“We didn’t actually go to Wales. We were in a trance.”

“We went to Wales. You and your animal and me, we were there. I’m not sure how to describe it but you became part of the earth and the earth became part of you.”

I just shake my head quickly and I’m about to say, “We didn’t go to Wales,” but I don’t. I’m not sure what happened. I don’t know where we went. But something significant did happen and the animal in me came too.

* * *

“So?” Nesbitt says to Gabriel as he piles bacon into a toasted sandwich and holds it up to take a bite. “Can you do Obama?”

Gabriel sighs dramatically. “This is the problem with my Gift. Everyone thinks I’m some sort of performing monkey. ‘Do Obama.’ ‘Do Marilyn Monroe.’ ‘I’d love to see Princess Diana,’ ‘Hitler,’ ‘Kanye West’—whoever he is.” He’s complaining but grinning all the while.

We’re sitting at the ridiculously long dining table. Nesbitt has cooked and laid out a buffet for twenty. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, some kind of fish, porridge, boiled eggs, bagels, honey, hams and cheeses. Meters of food. Van is having toast and coffee.

Then something occurs to me. “But they’re fains. You didn’t become them, did you?”

“Yep.”

“But you didn’t get stuck as them?”

“No. I only got stuck as me being a fain.”

Van says, “When Gabriel was being Obama he was just taking on the outward appearance. Inside he was still Gabriel. He was trying out what it was like to look like a fain. But when he made the more radical decision to actually try to
be
a fain—inside—then he got stuck. He did it far too successfully.”

“I’m too talented for my own good.”

“Yes, Gabriel, you have a wonderful ability; however, please no transformations just at the moment. Let’s savor having you back with us as yourself.”

Nesbitt starts to clear the table. He’s on the other side of it from me when he says, “I’m still waiting to see Nathan turn. Not sure what he becomes: wolf or wild dog.”

“You want to spend the night with me and find out?”

“No thanks, mate,” he replies. “I want to cook breakfast, not be it.”

“You know, Nesbitt, I really don’t think I’d eat you. I can’t imagine you’d taste that good. Too fatty for me.”

“Don’t worry about me, kid. The second you start to turn, I’m getting my gun out and shooting you.”

I stare at him but before I can think of anything to say, he adds, “Don’t look so alarmed, mate, my aim’s spot on. I’d just wing you. You heal quick—no harm done.”

And from his voice I know he’s serious. I mumble to Gabriel, “See? People ask you to show your Gift by turning into Obama; me, they shoot and say, ‘No harm done.’”

I’m trying to keep light and happy for Gabriel. I need to ignore Nesbitt but when I reach for more bread I see my hand and all the scars on it and the black tattoo and I want to scream at Nesbitt that it hurt, that every scar I have hurt, and my body is covered in scars that have healed quickly but they all hurt, and I can’t say about any of them, “No harm done.”

I stand up, push my chair back, and walk out of the room, saying, “I thought we were leaving.”