Half Wild Read online

  VIKING

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  First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 2015

  Published simultaneously in the UK by Penguin Books Ltd

  Copyright © 2015 by Half Bad Books Limited

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  IBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Green, Sally (Novelist)

  Half wild / Sally Green.

  pages cm.—(The half bad trilogy ; 2)

  Summary: In a modern-day England where two warring factions of witches live amongst humans, seventeen-year-old Nathan has come into his own unique magical Gift, but he is on the run with the Hunters close behind, and they will stop at nothing until they have captured Nathan and destroyed his father.

  ISBN 978-0-698-14885-7

  [1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 3. England—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.G826323Hat 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014044805

  Version_1

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Ddedication

  Also by Sally Green

  Epigraph

  PART ONE:RED

  a new day

  waiting

  me and annalise

  getting darker

  not waiting

  you’re not dead, are you?

  nesbitt

  kieran and partner

  one last look

  PART TWO:GIFTS

  van dal

  the amulet

  a proposition

  nightsmoke

  rain

  slovakia

  magical mumbo-jumbo

  telling gabriel

  using my soul

  the first stake

  the second stake

  the third stake

  PART THREE:ON THE ROAD

  do obama

  barcelona

  my teacher and guardian

  isch

  pilot

  on the road

  the map

  the shape of a word

  PART FOUR:THE BUNKER DIARIES

  being positive again

  we make our plan

  mercury’s bunker

  we

  pink

  kissing

  the locked drawer

  annalise not breathing

  getting stronger

  digging

  the fairborn is mine

  scars

  the burial

  mapping

  not resisting

  dresden, wolfgang, and marcus

  the cut

  PART FIVE:RIVERS OF BLOOD

  die rote kürbisflasche

  peanuts

  marcus

  the alliance

  rivers of blood

  the forager

  the first attack

  blondine

  a walk

  with arran

  laughter

  the meeting

  connor

  slowing time

  seeing jessica

  red

  Acknowledgments

  For Indy

  BOOKS BY SALLY GREEN

  Half Bad

  Half Wild

  You’ll feel my heavy spirit chill your chest,

  And climb your throat on sobs

  Wild with all Regrets, Wilfred Owen

  A New Day

  a crossbill calls

  another bird replies, not a crossbill

  the first bird takes over again

  and again

  the crossbill—

  shit, it’s morning

  i’ve been asleep

  it’s morning, very early

  shit, shit, shit

  need to wake up need to wake up

  can’t believe i’ve been asl—

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  SHIT!

  the noise is here. HERE!

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  that level of noise means, oh shit, someone with a mobile is close. very close. i can’t believe i’ve been asleep with hunters on my tail. and her. the fast one. she was close last night.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  THINK! THINK!

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  it’s a mobile phone, for sure it’s a mobile phone. the noise is in my head, not in my ears, it’s to the upper right side, inside, constant, like an electrical interference, pure hiss, mobile hiss, loud, three-or-four-meters-away loud.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  ok, right, lots of people have mobiles. if it’s a hunter, that hunter, and she could see me, i’d be dead by now.

  i’m not dead.

  she can’t see me.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  the noise isn’t getting louder. she’s not moving closer. but she’s not moving away either.

  am i hidden by something?

  i’m lying on my side, face pressed into the ground. totally still. can’t see anything but earth. got to move a little.

  but not yet. think first.

  stay calm and work it out.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  there’s no breeze, no sun, just a faint light. it’s early. the sun must be behind the mountain still. the ground is cool but dry, no dew. there’s the smell of earth and pine and . . . there’s another smell.

  what is that smell?

  and there’s a taste.

  a bad taste.

  it tastes like . . . oh no—

  don’t think about it

  don’t think
about it

  don’t think about it

  don’t think about it

  think about something else

  Think about where you are.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  You’re lying on the ground, in the early morning, and the air is cool. You’re cold. You’re cold because . . . you’re naked. You’re naked and the top half of you is wet. Your chest, your arms . . . your face are wet.

  And you move the fingers of your left hand, the tiniest of movements, and they’re sticky. Sticking together. Like they’re coated with drying, sugary juice. But it’s not juice—don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it

  DON’T THINK ABOUT IT!

  THINK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE!

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  THINK ABOUT STAYING ALIVE!

  You’ve got to move. The Hunters are on your tail. That fast one was close. She was very close last night. What happened last night?

  what happened?

  NO! FORGET THAT.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  THINK ABOUT STAYING ALIVE.

  WORK OUT WHAT TO DO.

  You can look, move your head a fraction to see more. The ground by your face is covered with pine needles. Brown pine needles. But the brown isn’t from the pine. It’s the color of dried blood. Your left arm is extended. It’s streaked in it. Crusted with dried brown. But your hand isn’t streaked in it, it’s thick with it.

  Red.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  You can find a stream and wash. Wash it all off.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  You need to go. For your own safety you have to get out of here. You need to get moving. Get away.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  The mobile phone is close, not changing. It won’t be coming closer.

  But you have to look. You have to check.

  Turn your head to the other side.

  You can do it.

  It looks a bit like a log. Please be a log please be a log please be a log please

  It’s not a log . . . It’s black and red. Black boots. Black trousers. One bent leg, one straight. Black jacket. Her face is turned away.

  She has short light-brown hair.

  It’s sopping with blood.

  She’s lying as still as a log.

  Still wet.

  Still oozing.

  Not fast anymore.

  The mobile phone is hers.

  c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h c h

  And as you raise your head you see the wound that is her throat, and it is jagged and bloody and deep and

  red

  Waiting

  I’m back in Switzerland, high in a remote valley—not the one where Mercury’s cottage is but close to there, half a day’s hike away.

  I’ve been here a few weeks now and I’ve gone back to Mercury’s valley a couple of times. The first time I retraced my steps, looking for the stream where I lost the Fairborn, the magic knife I stole from the Hunters. That Rose stole. I found the stream easily enough, and it wasn’t too hard to spot blood and some yellow stains on the ground. No Fairborn, though. I trailed up and down the stream, and all around that stained central spot: peering into bushes, looking under stones. It was getting ridiculous—I mean, looking under stones! I had to stop myself after two days’ searching. I’d started questioning if I’d ever really had the Fairborn at all; if an animal could have run off with it; if it had magically disappeared. It was getting to me. I’ve not been back to look for it since.

  I’m waiting here now, in this other valley, at the cave. That was what we agreed, me and Gabriel, so that’s what I’m doing: waiting for Gabriel. He brought me here one day and hid his tin of letters in the cave—they’re the love letters between his parents, his one possession. The tin is in my rucksack now. And I’m here. And I tell myself that at least we have a plan. Which is a good thing.

  It’s not much of a plan, though: “If things go wrong wait at the cave.”

  And things have gone wrong—big-time.

  I didn’t think we’d ever need the plan. I never thought things would go this wrong without me actually being dead. But I’m alive. I’m seventeen, a fully fledged, received-three-gifts witch. But I’m not sure who else is alive. Rose . . . Rose is dead . . . I’m certain of that; shot by Hunters. Annalise is in a death-like sleep, a prisoner of Mercury, and I know that she shouldn’t be left in that state for long or the death-like will become just plain death. And Gabriel is missing, still, weeks after we stole the Fairborn—four weeks and four days. If he was alive he’d be here and if the Hunters have caught Gabriel they’ll torture him and—

  But that’s one of the things I don’t allow myself to think about. That’s one of my rules while I wait: don’t think about negative stuff; stick to the positive. The trouble is all there is for me to do is sit here, wait, and think. So every day I make myself go through all my positive thoughts and I tell myself each time that when I’ve been through them Gabriel will return. And I have to tell myself that’s still possible. He could still make it. I just have to keep positive.

  OK, so positive thoughts, one more time . . .

  First off, noticing stuff around me. There’s positive stuff everywhere and I notice the same positive stuff every positive bloody day.

  The trees. Trees are positive things. Most are tall and fairly straight and thick, but a few are fallen and moss-covered. Most trees here have needles, not leaves, and the greens range from almost black to lime, depending on sunlight and age of needle. I know the trees here so well that I can close my eyes and see each one but I try not to close my eyes too much—it’s easier to stay positive with your eyes open.

  From trees, I move to the sky, which is positive too, usually bright blue during the day and light black at night. I like the sky that color. Sometimes there are clouds and from what I can see of them they are big and white, not often gray, not bringing rain. They mainly move to the east. There’s no wind here: it never gets down to the forest floor.

  What’s next? Oh yes, birds. Birds are positive and greedy and noisy—always chattering or eating. Some eat seeds and some eat insects. There are crows flying high above the forest but they don’t come in, not down to my level anyway. They’re black. Sharp black. Like they’ve been cut out with scissors from a piece of black paper. I look out for an eagle but I’ve never seen one here, and I wonder about my father and if he really did disguise himself as one and follow me and that seems so long ago—

  Stop!

  Thinking about my father does not belong here. I have to be careful when I’m thinking about him. I have to be strict with myself. It’s too easy to go negative otherwise.

  So . . . back to the things around me. Where am I up to? I’ve done trees, sky, clouds, birds. Oh yes, we have silences . . . plenty of them. Huge silences. The silences at night could fill the Pacific Ocean. Silences, I love. There’s no buzzing here, no electrical interference. Nothing. My head is clear. I think I should be able to hear the river at the bottom of the valley but I can’t; the trees blot out the sound.

  So that’s silences covered and then there are mov
ements. Things that have moved so far: small deer, I’ve seen a few of them; they’re quiet and brown and sort of delicate and a bit nervous. Rabbits too, which are gray-brown, silent. And there are voles, gray-brown, and marmots, which are gray and quiet. Then there are spiders, black and silent; flies, black, silent until they’re close, then incredibly, hilariously noisy; one lost butterfly, cornflower blue, silent; falling pinecones, brown, not silent but making a gentle word as they land on the forest floor—“thu”; falling pine needles, brown, as noisy as snow.

  So that’s positive: butterflies and trees and stuff.

  I notice me too. I’m in my old boots. Heavy soles, flexible cos they’re so worn. The brown leather is scuffed and water gets in the right one through the ripped seam. My jeans are baggy, comfy, worn to threads, ripped at the left knee, frayed at the hems, blue once, gray now, stained by soil, some green streaks from climbing trees. Belt: thick black leather, brass buckle. It’s a good belt. T-shirt: white once, gray now, a hole at the right side, little holes on the sleeve like some fleas have nibbled at it. I don’t have fleas, I don’t think. I’m not itchy. I’m a bit dirty. But I wash some days, always if I wake up with blood on me. My clothes don’t have blood on them, which is something. I always wake up naked if I’ve—

  Get back to thinking about clothes!

  Where was I up to? T-shirt. And over my T-shirt is my shirt, which is warm and thick, wool—the plaid pattern still visible in green, black, and brown. There are three black buttons left on it. Hole on right side. Rip in left sleeve. I don’t have pants or socks. I had socks once; don’t know what happened to them. And I had gloves. My scarf is in my rucksack, I think. I haven’t looked in there for ages. I should do that. That’s something to do. I think my gloves are in there, maybe.

  So now what?

  More about me.

  My hands are a mess. A real mess. They’re tanned, lined, rough; the scars on my right wrist are hideous, like melted skin; my nails are black and bitten to nothing, and there are the tattoos as well. Three tattoos on my right little finger and the large tattoo on the back of my left hand. B 0.5. A Half Code tattoo. Just so everyone knows what I am: half Black Witch. And in case they miss these tattoos there’s the one on my ankle and the one on my neck (my personal favorite).