by Sally Green
“Is anyone stupid enough to try?” I ask.
Gus ignores me. “Marcus likes to know what’s happening in the world. But he rarely goes to gatherings these days. He relies on me for information.”
“Just you? Didn’t you say he has a few contacts?”
“It doesn’t matter who else he uses.”
“So you don’t know who they are.”
“What is important is that he trusts me.”
“You’re very honored.”
“What I am is extremely discreet and equally cautious.”
I yawn.
“I leave messages for him in a secret place and he picks them up. He knows I’ll be leaving him another message in the next twenty-four hours.”
I stretch and look over to Gabriel. He’s moved on from catching the peanuts to missing them and sending them bouncing off his nose and cheeks.
I’m telling myself this is serious; in fact, it is very serious—if not deadly serious—but Gabriel seems to think that the mood needs to be lightened and he’s doing his best to make me smile. He throws a handful of nuts up in the air and turns to look at me, mouth open as the nuts shower over him, and I snigger.
Gus can’t see Gabriel from where he’s sitting but looks round and works it out. “You can clear that mess up now!” he shouts and Gabriel does a mock salute and throws another nut in the air, which he catches perfectly in his teeth and crunches on.
Gus says to me, “You’re like children.”
I shout to Gabriel, “Gus thinks we’re not serious enough!”
Gabriel replies, “Gus doesn’t know us very well at all.”
“That’s fine with me.”
Gus curls his lip. “And with me too.”
“OK. So we leave a message for Marcus to meet me somewhere,” I say.
“No, dipshit. You wait for him where I leave the messages. You’re the message.”
I swear at him and ask, “When?” I expect him to say dawn or midnight or something like that.
Instead he says, “Now. The sooner you’re out of my sight, the better.”
“I need some lunch first, for me and Gabriel. We’ll go after that.”
Gus sneers. “This is more important than your stomach.”
And I want to say that yes, of course it is. But, on the other hand, I haven’t eaten since I don’t know when, and if I go to see my father I’m not sure when I’ll eat again, and I’m hungry and now I’m totally pissed off.
I get to my feet and walk out of the booth, saying to Gabriel, “Let’s get something to eat.”
Gus says, “You spoiled brat. This mission is more important than you—or do you think that because your father is Marcus you can swagger in here and expect everyone to run around after you?”
Gabriel is by me now and I don’t turn back to Gus because if I do I might kill him. I carry on to the door, saying to Gabriel, “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”
“You shouldn’t risk being seen,” Gus snarls.
Gabriel stares at Gus. “You should make sure he doesn’t leave. You should get him something to eat. You’re the fool.”
Gus is no fool, of course, but he is a Black Witch, and no lover of Half Codes, and he’s not going to back down. So Gabriel and I walk out of the Red Gourd onto the street. When we get round the corner I suddenly remember practicalities.
“Have you got any money?”
“As a matter of fact—and I have to say I hope you’re as impressed with me as I am—yes, I do.”
“Buy me lunch then?”
“Anytime.”
We find a small Italian restaurant and order mountains of pasta but I eat only a little.
“Yours no good?” Gabriel asks.
“It’s OK. Gus ruined my appetite.” I stab a piece of pasta with my fork. “He despises me for not being a ‘proper’ Black Witch and for being the spoiled son of the blackest Black Witch.”
“Some you lose and some you lose.”
“Sounds like my life. Though it doesn’t look promising for the Alliance. We’re hardly one happy family. If all Blacks are like Gus . . .”
“I hate to bear bad news, Nathan, but most of them are. No one’s used to trusting witches who are different from them. Even here in Europe, they’re just used to ignoring them. Gus would love to ignore you but he can’t.”
“Great.”
“We can only hope that once he realizes what a wonderful, warm personality you have he’ll become one of your greatest admirers.”
I start to laugh.
Gabriel leans back and smiles at me. “So, as one of your current greatest admirers, can you tell me what’s happening? What’s the plan?”
I nod and tell him everything Gus told me.
“Gus would be very upset if he knew you’d divulged his top-secret information,” Gabriel says.
“Would be? I hope he will be.”
“You want me to let him know you told me?”
“Make him suffer.”
Gabriel smiles. “It’ll be good to have an objective while you’re away.”
* * *
Two hours later Gus has taken me out of the old town and into a smart area of closely packed houses. These aren’t exactly new but they’re grander and each one stands in its own walled garden. We look more than a little out of place: the people around here are well-dressed fains, smiling and looking happy with their position in the world. We turn down a side street. There are no cars here and it looks like the back entrances to the houses, high walls with gates in each.
Gus stops at one old worn gate, pulls out a large rusty key, and opens the gate.
Inside is a garden: small and surrounded by the high walls. The garden is completely overgrown with bushes. There’s one old tree and a shed that’s falling down.
“You wait here until he comes,” Gus says. As if I’m going to do anything else, as if I’m going to do it just because he says so.
I call him an idiot or words to that effect with some swearing to enhance it.
And it seems as though that’s all he’s wanted and he’s got me by the throat and a knife is in his hand and he’s saying, “You cocky little mong bastard. Just do as you’re told. You’re not worth shit. You’re not a true Black; you’re not even a true White. So do the thing you’re here to do and—”
I push forward so that the knife is digging into my throat and Gus pulls back, surprised. I knock the knife out of his hand and punch him short and hard, then turn and elbow him in the stomach. He’s big and all muscle but it’s got to hurt a little.
We stand there, staring at each other, and I tell him, “Just go.”
“And you just do your job.” He turns to leave but before opening the gate he says, “With your father the Alliance will win. And, when we’ve won, I’ll be settling down to a world where Whites get on with their lives and I get on with mine, like we’ve managed here for hundreds of years. I won’t go near them and don’t want them near me, and everyone should do the same so there’s no more of your kind around.” And he spits on the ground.
A few minutes after he’s left I’ve calmed down enough to think over what he’s said. According to Gus I’m not a true witch as I’m not pure Black or pure White. According to Gabriel I’m the ultimate witch, being the reunion of Black and White. According to White Witches I’m Black. According to Van I’m just an ordinary witch. And according to my father . . . I’m not sure what he thinks. Maybe I should find out when he comes. But I’m not going to ask any stupid questions about what he thinks of me.
Marcus
I’m lying on the ground in the walled garden. The sun has dropped behind the buildings and the shade has slid over me. The tree’s leaves are gently swaying in the breeze. The sky is blue, dotted with small, thin white clouds. It’s still sunny and bright up there.
I’ve been thro
ugh the will-he-come, won’t-he-come thoughts and now I’m just waiting, staring up at the tree and the leaves and the sky. The leaves are hardly moving. In fact, they aren’t moving at all . . . I stare at one branch and I’m right: none of the leaves are moving, not even a slight tremor. And the little clouds: they were moving slowly left to right but the small one that is behind the branch above me is in exactly the same position as a minute ago, as a few minutes ago.
I sit up and at that moment the gate opens.
Marcus sees me and stops. For a second, I think he’s going to leave straightaway but he comes into the garden and closes the gate.
I’m standing, though I don’t remember getting up.
He turns to me but doesn’t come forward. “I take it Gus brought you here?” he says. It’s the usual enthusiastic welcome.
“Yes. I wanted to speak to you.”
“We don’t have long. I use the magic to stop things, to give me time to scout out an area, check for traps.”
“I’m not a trap.”
“No, I don’t believe you are.” He comes to stand in front of me and I realize how similar we are: the same height, the same face and hair, and exactly the same eyes. “But still I’d prefer to make it short.”
“I know you don’t want to spend any time with me, don’t worry. But I need to tell you what’s happening with the Council of White Witches and a group of rebels.”
“And with you?”
“If you’re interested.”
“I’m always interested in you, Nathan. But our circumstances mean that short is usually a lot sweeter.” He looks up. “I can’t risk staying here any longer.” He goes to the gate and opens it.
I can’t believe that’s it. Hello and good-bye. One look at me and he’s out of here.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asks.
“What?”
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
“Um, yes. Course.”
He walks through the gate and I trip in my rush to follow him. Once through he locks it with a similar key to the one Gus has and starts to walk away, saying over his shoulder, “Do your best to keep up.”
a a a
* * *
I’m running after Marcus and it feels amazing to be with someone so fast. In the next street, we pass a car as it starts to move and, within a few strides, time is back to normal. We keep running. The houses end and we’re in a wood of slender young trees and ferns, running uphill and over the brow. The countryside is gently sloping down and it gets much steeper and I’m almost out of control, taking huge strides to keep my balance, and there’s no way I can stop, no way I want to stop, and the river is ahead of us and Marcus runs at it and leaps out over it and turns a somersault in the air and dives into the water.
I do my best to copy him and manage a dive. The water is cold and a shock but in a few seconds I’m used to it. My father isn’t swimming so neither am I. We’re floating but moving fast, carried along in the current. The banks are wood-lined, the city upstream in the distance, and we’re just bobbing along in the middle of the dark river, the sky pale blue ahead of us, the sun below the hills to our left.
Then Marcus swims fast but easily to the left bank and I keep close to him. I think he’s going to climb out of the river but he takes hold of my hand and puts it on his belt, saying, “Keep hold of that. Take a deep breath. Stay with me through the cut.”
I sink and swim with him toward the bank of the river. The water is slower here and so clear that I can count the stones on the bottom, which Marcus seems to be navigating by grabbing one and then another to pull himself along. When we get to a large flat stone I see him reach behind it and he slips down into an impossibly tiny crack and I’m being sucked through with him from the bright, gray, cold water of the river to empty darkness that feels even colder, and I’m spinning round but remembering to breathe out too as Nesbitt told me. I’m spinning fast and the cut is so long that I run out of air and I’m desperately looking for light at the end but there’s none and all I can do is concentrate on holding on to the leather of my father’s belt.
I’m spewed out of the cut and suck in a new breath, and another, and another.
I try to look as if the experience wasn’t that bad so I straighten up but I feel my heart pounding. I have to bend over, breathe, get air. I laugh. That was serious.
I’m on my knees in the shallows of a river. This is definitely a different one: much smaller, though powerful and fast too.
Marcus is already sitting on the bank. I get up and wobble a bit and hope he hasn’t seen. I sit next to him. “You still use cuts, even though Hunters can find them?”
“What do you think? Will they find that one?”
“I don’t know. But you’re the one who told me that Hunters have found a way of detecting cuts and Hunters are good at hunting.”
“Yes, there’s at least one Hunter who can do it. It’s her Gift. I think she has to be within a certain distance, though—what do you think? A mile? A few hundred meters? Ten? I’d imagine quite close but I don’t know. So I expect the worst and make new cuts every month.” He turns to me. “Always moving on, always staying safe.” He looks at the river. “At the moment this is a good home, a decent view and fresh water. I’ve stayed in worse places. But, if I stay here too long, they’ll be here: one day, later, sooner, who knows? I stay in one place for three months, sometimes less. Never more.”
I look at the river and the trees. The sun is setting here too.
“Still, I’m not due to leave here for a few weeks, so we should have time to talk.”
“That would be good.”
“We’ll see.”
And I wonder about telling him about the Alliance but I get the feeling that this isn’t the right time and I don’t want to talk about that. I’ve spent so little time with my father, know him so little, that I want to talk about us, about him—but I don’t get the feeling he wants to do that either.
I look around. Behind me is a wall of trees that seems to be the edge of a forest cloaking a hillside. The first tree isn’t for a few meters, though, and the bank is covered with brambles and ferns. It feels safe and clean and open. I turn, kneeling to face the forest. Even the shade and the smell of it are seductive and the river behind is surprisingly quiet.
This is close to how I dreamed my home would be but there’s no meadow, no cottage. Ahead of me the brambles are thick, fairy-story thick; they’d be impregnable without hacking through with a sword. It’s a safe boundary; no one could come at us from that direction. The brambles remind me of my cage bars but they’re somehow enticing too and I see that there’s a gap in them, a gap barely big enough for a human. I crawl toward it and discover that once I’ve started along the tunnel I can’t go back: my clothes get caught. I keep going. The entrance slopes down and I have to follow it lower and further.
Ahead the brambles open out into a wide, low den. It’s dark inside but warm and lit by the natural light that makes its way through the myriad tiny gaps. It’s like an animal den but this is definitely a human home. A low room, mostly empty. There’s the remains of a fire, just off the center. A small log store is to one side and the wood is all dry. An area around the fire is bare earth, where my father must sit, feed the fire, and cook and eat. It’s hard to imagine the most feared of Black Witches making soup or stew, eating with a metal spoon from a simple dish, but that’s what he appears to do. And I know he spends his time here only briefly human. Mostly he’s an animal. This is his life. Lonely. Alone. Human only sometimes. And I have to sit down.
He doesn’t want to talk about his life. Instead he’s showing it to me so that I can know him. And, if I know him, I will know myself. But this is not the life I had envisaged he’d have. I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps something impressive, grand, a place full of treasure and history and power, but I realize now that that isn’t him, no more th
an it would be me.
And I’m crying, and I’m not sure if I’m crying with sadness or joy, for him or myself, or just a connection with him or because of all of it. I recognize this is a place I might end up living in if I’m like him. But I don’t want it.
He still hasn’t come and I know he’s letting me get used to it. Or maybe he’s just taking in the sunset.
In a corner are some wool blankets, worn and riddled with holes, and a pile of sheepskins, seven of them. They’ve been rolled up to keep them dry. I pull them out and lay them by the cold ashes of the fire.
He comes into the den when the light is fading to nothing. He lights the fire in seconds, getting the flames licking up some twigs he’s brought in with him. He feeds the fire and we both watch it. I’m sitting, then lying, and I find I’m crying again and I can’t stop and I look up at him and see no tears on his cheeks. And I close my eyes and the Alliance and all those people, even Gabriel and Annalise, feel like they belong in a different world. This is my father’s world and it is another place. It’s wild.
* * *
I wake. The den is light but I can tell it’s early. I’m lying where I fell asleep; the fire is cold now and I’m alone.
I crawl out of the den. Marcus is sitting just by the exit, close to the riverbank. I sit by him. The sun is coming over the hill ahead of us.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You want to hunt with me?”
I nod.
“Ever been an eagle?”
* * *
Me and my father are sitting together. I hunted with him. He transformed and I copied him. I wasn’t sure how to choose what to become and I’m not sure I did. But the animal in me knew what to do and we did it. We copied my father the eagle and did what he did. We flew for the first time, clumsy to start with but quickly getting the hang of soaring and turning, swooping, diving. Hunting was too hard, though. My father caught a weasel and a fox. We weren’t accurate enough or fast enough to catch anything. It didn’t matter. We all ate together.