Half Wild

by Sally Green

  It’s the perfect item for the potion.

  “Of course this means that you must receive the vision from Pilot.”

  “OK.”

  “That means you make the potion and you drink the potion. The potion is like a river cutting through the land of the mind, carrying memories from Pilot to you.”

  “OK,” I say, a little more cautiously now.

  “You must make the cut that it flows down and be what it flows into.”

  “I cut her?”

  “We need her blood for the potion. Lots. You must bleed her to death.”

  “What?”

  “She’s dying anyway, Nathan.”

  * * *

  I used to think that I would never kill anyone. I remember, as a kid, hearing stories about Hunters killing Black Witches and stories about my father killing Hunters, and I thought I’d never do that. But so far, at the grand old age of seventeen, I’ve killed five people. And now I’m going to have to kill another. But Pilot isn’t trying to kill me. She’s dying anyway but I’ll be the one who kills her. Another death on my hands.

  And I’m shocked at how little I think about those people I’ve killed. I thought murderers would be haunted by memories of their victims but I hardly give them a thought. I want to think of them now, sort of as a mark of respect, and possibly to convince myself that I’m not totally lacking in feeling. There was the first, the Hunter in Geneva whose neck I broke. I do remember her well. Then the Hunter in the forest, the fast one, the one I killed when I was an animal. Then there’s Kieran, who I don’t want to give any respect to. And then came the two in Spain. The first one was in the dry valley. I stabbed her in the neck. The second one was under an olive tree. The ground was strewn with olives. I remember them well: green olives, fat, ripe, some split open, staining the ground. I can’t remember the Hunter very well. I remember the ground beneath her better than her.

  I’ve killed five people.

  Soon to be six.

  If I can go through with it.

  * * *

  Pilot is lying on the ground. Her head is on a pillow made of a rug from the car. Pers is sitting beside her, holding her hand. Van has spent the last hour surrounded by vials and jars from her carpetbag. She’s been mixing and grinding ingredients, preparing them for me, and now she says she’s ready. She speaks to Pilot. Gabriel says, “She’s telling her we don’t have to do this. All Pilot has to do is tell us the location. She’s saying she can help with the pain.”

  “And what’s Pilot saying?” But I think I can guess.

  “Basically, no.”

  Van then speaks to Pers, I guess telling her what’s going to happen. I expect Pers to spit at Van, to fight and complain, but she just holds Pilot’s hand and whispers to her.

  Van says to me, “Pers is a sharp little vixen. Don’t be fooled by her cute exterior, Nathan.”

  Pers doesn’t strike me as cute in any way. I know she already hates me, and I know that she’ll hate me more for doing this to Pilot. There’s always room for more hate.

  Van has told me what to do. I must cut down Pilot’s arm vertically, into the vein. Pilot must see and know what I’m doing. I must collect her blood and add it to the potion that Van has made up using the map. I must take as much blood as I can. Pilot will die. Pilot has to die. It’s best if I drink the potion as she dies.

  Van says, “Pilot has many memories in her head; she must really understand what you need to know and how badly you need it. When you cut her think about Mercury, think about Pilot’s blood, and think about taking Pilot’s memories of Mercury’s home.”

  Pilot is wearing a dress with wide sleeves and Gabriel has pulled one up to reveal the pale skin on the inside of her long, thin arm. The blue vein seems to lie boldly but deeply within it.

  I have the knife in my hand, put the point to Pilot’s skin, and then take it away. I’m not ready. I’ve got to get my head together. Got to think the correct thoughts.

  “It’s the only way to find Mercury, Nathan,” says Van. “The only way to help Annalise. But you must be sure. The potion won’t work if you’re not sure. Remember, Pilot will be gone anyway in a few hours. There is nothing we can do to save her; she’s dying.”

  Gabriel says, “But you are going to kill her. You are taking the last few hours she has from her. You have to be sure.”

  Van looks at him. “Gabriel, what would you do if Nathan was held by Mercury? If you had to cut Pilot to find him and try to rescue him?”

  Gabriel doesn’t reply. He stares at Van and then turns away.

  She says, quietly and slowly, “I think you’d skin her alive.”

  He turns back to look at me and I see the gold glints tumble slowly in his eyes as he says, “Ten times over.”

  “But you don’t think I should do this. Why? Because I don’t care enough about Annalise?”

  He shakes his head. “I know you do, Nathan. You don’t need to prove it.”

  “I’m not proving anything. I’m trying to find a way to help Annalise.”

  “And this is the only way,” says Van.

  I think of Mercury and finding her home and push the knife’s point into Pilot’s arm and draw the blade down. Pilot doesn’t flinch but she grunts and says something, a curse, I think, and, even though I told myself not to look at her face, I do. Her eyes are black; as black as mine. She says some more things, more curses. I can smell her breath, which is rancid. It’s good that I can concentrate on Pilot’s face. I know I have to believe in what I’m doing. Pilot stops cursing and her eyelids flutter but don’t close. She stares at me until the end and then beyond, but the flashes of gray in her eyes, which were weak even before I cut, finally disappear, and her blood flows more slowly and then stops.

  “Quick,” orders Van. “Before she dies.”

  I add some of the blood to the stone bowl that Van passes me: the pulp of the map and Van’s other ingredients lie in the bottom. “Add more,” Van says. “Stir it in.”

  I think there’ll be Hunter poison in it too but Van has said that I can counter that. She says I can counter everything.

  “Find Mercury, Nathan. Find Mercury and save Annalise. Remember, that is what you have to do.”

  I put the bowl to my lips and sip the potion. It tastes of stone, strangely dry, almost peppery, and gives a hot feeling inside my throat and stomach.

  “Think of Mercury,” Van reminds me. And I swallow all the potion while remembering Mercury standing over Annalise. When I’ve finished I drop the bowl.

  Pers is looking at me, her eyes black and full of hate, and suddenly I’m furious with her for judging me for what I am and what I have to do. I have to get away before I hit her so I stand up but my legs collapse and I’m surprised to find that Nesbitt catches me and lowers me to the ground.

  My body’s weak but my mind’s on fire. I want to find Pilot’s memories but I don’t know where to search for them.

  I close my eyes.

  I see Pers. She’s kneeling above me. I’m lying on the patio in Spain. I’ve just been shot. Then Pers is gone and I’m walking through a grove of olive trees and stopping to pick up something: a stone, a sharp stone. Then I’m on a beach and picking up a pebble and the sun is hot on my face. Then I’m by a river and I’m placing the stones in a small dam. Damming it up.

  This is Pilot’s way of resisting me accessing her memories. Van had told me Pilot might do this, fill her mind with false thoughts, not memories at all. I concentrate on Mercury, her hair, her gray dress, the cold chill she could summon in a second. I see her. And then I’m standing by a large blue lake. It’s cold and the pale blue mackerel sky is reflected on the water. I pick up a stone, the biggest I can find. I’m going to carry it to the end of the lake to dam up the river. As I walk along, carrying the stone, I glance up and see that in the lake is an island and it’s the strangest of things. A whi
te island. And I realize that it’s not an island at all but an iceberg floating in the lake. I’m still carrying the heavy rock along the shore but I want to look at the iceberg, to feel the cold and the breeze, to think of Mercury and her chill breath. But I keep looking down, looking at the stones at my feet and walking to the river, then dropping the rock in the water, damming it up.

  * * *

  The vision is near Mercury’s home. Van is sure of that. But it’s not much help. I’ve gone over it many times now but I’m not finding anything new. All I get are the same things over and over. Me in Pilot’s head, lifting rocks and putting them in a dam.

  I ask for advice and Van says, “She’s dead. And they aren’t real memories. Find the real ones.”

  “Thanks. Very helpful,” I reply.

  And I try again and come up with the same stuff.

  * * *

  It’s late, dark. I’m pacing around outside, in the garden. We’ve moved on from where Pilot died, where I killed her. We’ve got another car and another house to stay in. I think we’re in France but I’m not sure. The others are inside. Nesbitt at least provides a good meal for us all but he’s complaining about how long it’s taking to locate Mercury. He’s nervous about information Isch will have disclosed to the Hunters if she’s been caught. Celia is in danger, may be revealed as a spy, but Van says that there’s nothing that can be done except trust that Celia can look after herself.

  We’ve been here a full day now. Waiting for me to find where we should go next. The back door opens and Gabriel comes out.

  “Tired?” he asks.

  “Tired—yes. Angry—yes. Pissed off—ninety-nine percent of the time. Fun to be around—never.”

  Gabriel smiles. “Who wants fun when you can have interesting?”

  We sit down on some blankets under one of the trees. We slept here last night. “Any brilliant ideas?” I ask.

  “On how to find the memories?”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep going over them. Find the way through.”

  I rest my head back against the tree and say, “It’s so boring. The same thing over and over.”

  “Boring but necessary.” He looks at me. “If you want to find Annalise do it again.”

  I look at him. I realize he’s right. He’d do it all a thousand times for me.

  * * *

  I go over each memory: the olive grove, the beach, and the lake. But I think the lake is the real memory. That’s what appeared when I began thinking of Mercury. I go back to that and I see it again. The lake, the sky reflected in it, and I feel a cold breeze which seems real—that’s a feeling I’ve not had in the other memories. I concentrate on the breeze. I shiver and look to my right. I’m in Pilot’s head. I’ve heard something. There’s a hill, tree-covered and brown. There are pockets of snow. There’s a road by the lake and I walk along it. In the lake is the iceberg, its reflection mirrored perfectly in the water. I turn back to the hill and see Mercury beckoning me and I walk toward her, to her home.

  The Shape of a Word

  I spend the night going over and over the memory. Looking for more clues. I see Mercury’s home clearer every time. It’s not a castle, country house, cottage, or eyrie—it’s much more difficult to find than that. It’s a bunker. Completely underground, completely out of sight, inside the hill.

  The next morning I try to describe the place, the lake, and the hill. Gabriel says, “Can you draw it?”

  That I can do. Everyone watches as I draw the lake with the iceberg floating in it. The land around is undulating; there are no trees or shrubs, just yellowed grass and bare ground; patches of snow lie in wide hollows. As I draw I realize that there’s a sign by the road that runs along the lake.

  “Can you see the place name?” Van asks.

  I don’t know what the sign says. I close my eyes and describe what I see. “It begins with a V and is a sort of medium-length word.”

  “Well, that’s a big help,” says Nesbitt. “It’s somewhere cold and begins with a V? Sure rules out a heck of a lot of places—”

  “Yes, it does, thank you, Nesbitt,” Van interrupts. “We need maps. Can you read maps, Nathan?”

  “Yes. There’s something else as well. I know the shape of the word.”

  “The shape?” Nesbitt laughs. “Well, why didn’t you say that before? The shape of the word . . . that makes all the difference.”

  “Nesbitt, if you can’t contribute positively do you mind awfully not contributing at all?” Van turns back to me. “The shape?”

  I shrug. I draw it in the air with my finger.

  “Good. And how long is this word? Do you know the number of letters?”

  “Or what the letters are?” Nesbitt chimes in again. “I mean, that might be a question worth asking.”

  “The sign was by the road, a long way off.” But I know it wasn’t that far off and it’s just that I can’t read the sign and, every time I try to remember it or focus on it, it goes to a jumble of black on white.

  Gabriel gives me a book, saying, “Which word is it most like?”

  Nesbitt flaps his arms and shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”

  I put the book down and stare at him. Van and Gabriel stare too.

  “What?!”

  “Why don’t you bring the atlas, Nesbitt,” says Van. “Then prepare lunch and go for a long walk.”

  While he’s gone I look through the book and try to find a word that reminds me of the place name that I saw. I don’t find any.

  Gabriel brings scissors and cuts up some letters. He rearranges them until I say stop.

  “That’s sort of what it’s like. What does it say?”

  “Volteahn. It doesn’t mean anything. And”—he’s leafing through the atlas index—“it isn’t listed as a place.”

  “Is there anything similar?” Van asks.

  Gabriel studies the index.

  I get up and go to the kitchen. Nesbitt is slicing a loaf with a bread knife. He glances up when I enter.

  “Hey, mate.”

  I guess I don’t look too happy because he says, “You know I didn’t mean anything.”

  “I can’t read, OK?” I walk up to him. The knife is pointed at my chest. It’s a bread knife but it could still kill me.

  I walk further so the point of the knife is hard against my skin.

  I push. The point begins to go in but then Nesbitt pulls the knife away. There’s blood on the tip.

  “OK?” I insist.

  “Yes, sure, Nathan. I was just kidding around.” His voice is the same, and his stupid grin, but now I’m close to him I see that his eyes have lost their movement: the flow of blue and green is frozen. He’s afraid.

  And I’m so surprised that I stop. I never realized he was scared of me.

  “Nathan, what’s happening?” Gabriel asks as he comes into the kitchen. He hesitates, then says, “We think we’ve found it. The place.”

  “Seems I don’t need to be able to read,” I say to Nesbitt. “And,” I add, “your soup is too salty.” I turn and walk away.

  Nesbitt says, “Too salty? Too salty? I . . . but . . .”

  As I walk out of the kitchen I notice Pers. She’s sitting in the corner on the bench. She must have been there all along. I recognize that look in her eyes again and she bares her teeth to hiss at me as I leave.

  * * *

  Gabriel points to the name of the village on the atlas. “Is that it? Veltarlin. Is that the name you saw?”

  “I can’t be sure. It looks the same. The lake seems right but I’d need a more detailed map to be certain.”

  Nesbitt joins us at the table. “You got it?”

  I say, “Yes. It has to be the place: it’s cold and begins with a V.”

  “Righto.” Nesbitt grins at me.

  “Now what?” asks Gabriel
.

  Van stands up, stretches back in a stiff arch, and then paces round the room. She takes her cigarette case out but plays with it rather than opening it. “We’ll head there. We can get more detailed maps on the way to ensure you’re correct. Assuming it is, Nesbitt will form the advance party.”

  “An advance party of one?” he asks.

  “Don’t pretend that you’re anything other than flattered.”

  “With the aim of . . . ?”

  “Scouting it out with extreme care. Watching. Observing. Locating the entrance or entrances. Looking to see if anyone goes in or out. Assessing what spells Mercury might be using as protection. Most importantly, making sure that you’re not seen. And then returning to base.”

  “And where’s base?”

  Van comes back to the atlas and places the tip of her finger, her perfect fingernail, on a place a few centimeters from Mercury’s hill and her bunker.

  Being Positive Again

  We’re at the base, another vacant home, several miles from Mercury’s bunker. We’ve checked the place on a detailed map and I’m certain now that it’s right. We’ve been here for seventy-two hours and Nesbitt has been gone for seventy-one and a half. Van has spent all the time making a persuading potion that she can use on Mercury to make her wake Annalise. She’s mixing and sampling, and glaring at us if we make a noise. Pers is still full of hate and evil stares but I give as good as I get. Gabriel and I keep to ourselves, hanging out in his bedroom or the kitchen.

  I slept outside the first two nights. We’re north, far north, and it’s cold. The first night I wondered if I’d transform but nothing happened. The second night I sat cross-legged on the ground and watched the sun set and went over what I could remember of when I’d been in animal form, when he had taken over, and I thought of what it was like to be inside the other me and to see things in a different way. Nothing. But then I went back to the vision I’d had when I was helping Gabriel. I remembered being in Wales, the stake through my heart, connecting me to the earth and to him, the animal me. And then it happened; I felt the animal adrenaline slowly build in me, and I did welcome it and I transformed.