by Green, Sally
“How would you describe it?”
“A lucky escape. Finish that and close it all back up. Then make some tea and I’ll tell you.”
I boil water on the stove in the cottage and Mary sits outside in the sun. When I bring the tea she pats the grass beside her. We lean back against the wall of the cottage.
“Remember, Nathan, the Council is dangerous. They will not allow anyone to show the slightest weakness toward Black Witches. I was foolish enough to once voice a concern I had. I worked as a secretary for the Council. My job was to keep the records. They have many files and I kept them well, but one day when I was tidying up I had a few minutes of free time and I decided to read one. It described the Retribution delivered to a Black Witch. It was horrific.
“I stupidly told one of the Council members that the Retribution was terrible. This was not a problem. Retribution is terrible, it’s supposed to be, and if I had stopped there nothing would have happened. But I didn’t. It bothered me greatly. I couldn’t sleep. I had always known about Retribution but somehow I hadn’t realized how much suffering was inflicted. A month of torture before they let the witch die. I worked for the Council because I believed White Witches were good, superior, and I was now faced with the fact that they were as bad as Black Witches, as bad as fains, as bad as them all.
“There was a Black Witch in the cells and I knew what they would be doing to him.
“It was stupid to even try to help him. He would never be able to escape. But I was full of righteous anger. And so I did what I could.
“I pretended that I was mad with hate at the Black Witch. He had killed the family of one of the Council Members so it wasn’t hard, though in truth they were a stuck-up snotty bunch who always treated me like muck.”
She slurps her tea.
“I made an excuse to get into the cells. I didn’t really have a plan, I had no weapon, but by the door was a table and on that were knives and . . . other things. Instruments of torture, I suppose you’d call them. I picked up a knife and started screaming and shouting and pretending to attack the prisoner. It was pointless as an attack. There was no possibility that I could have killed him. But in the struggle with the guard I made sure that the knife landed within the reach of the witch who was chained in the cell. He stabbed himself in the heart within a second of picking it up.”
Mary put her teacup down.
“I pretended that I was mad. I got off. But there were doubts. Some thought I was faking it. So now I try to . . . Oh, what’s that phrase? Stay off-grid.”
“Wow.”
“Yes, I’m often surprised at what I did. But I don’t regret it. I saved that man from weeks of torture.”
“Who was he?”
“Ah, a good question at last.”
She puts her hand gently on my arm.
“He was Massimo. He was Marcus’s grandfather.”
* * *
Later that morning Mary makes me memorize the instructions for my departure. They are similar to the ones for my arrival.
“Is this a spell to ensure that I’m not followed?”
“One of my specialties and, though I say so myself, quite tricky to accomplish well. Most witches don’t have the patience for it. You have to take time over each step. And, if you do, even Hunters can’t track you.”
“Hunters would follow me here, I suppose.”
“Hunters follow you everywhere, Nathan, and always have. Apart from your journey here. And your journey away from here, if you follow the instructions.”
“They always follow me?”
“They’re Hunters, Nathan. The clue is in the name. And they’re very good.”
I nod. “Yeah, I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do. Never underestimate the enemy, Nathan. Never. Hunters follow you everywhere and could kill you at any time. They want to, Nathan. But they work for the Council and the Council manages to keep them in check, just.”
“So I should be grateful to them?”
Mary shakes her head. “The Council is more dangerous than the Hunters, remember that too. They use the Hunters. They use everything they can.”
I’m not sure what she means by “everything.” I say, “Gran has told me they use spies.”
“Yes, spying is one of their favorite methods. Trust no one, Nathan. Not friends, not even family. If they’re White then the Council will use them as spies if they can. And they usually can.
“The Council and Hunters are united in one aim: they want Marcus dead. And all his bloodline too.”
“Yesterday you said that you thought the Council has never wanted to kill me.”
“Not yet. At the moment they think that you are more use to them alive.”
“So they want to use me to trap Marcus?”
“I’m sure they have considered it, probably tried it. But there’s more than that. Don’t go to any more assessments. Find Mercury. She will hide you until your Giving. Go as soon as you can.”
I nod again, but I can tell she is building up to tell me one last thing. But she goes quiet again.
I say, “There’s something else I’ve remembered about Marcus. A few years ago there was an attack on a family of White Witches, the Greys. Marcus killed them. But I think he was trying to get something that they had. Something called the Fairborn. Do you know what that is?”
Mary nods. “Yes, I do. It’s a knife.”
“Why would Marcus want it?”
“It’s a special knife. A vicious thing. Fairborn is the name of the man who made it, over a hundred years ago, I believe. He engraved his name on the blade. I came to know the knife very well during the investigation that the Council made into my attack in the cells: it’s the same knife that I threw to Massimo. It was Massimo’s knife.”
“I see why Marcus would want it back.”
“No. I don’t think you do, Nathan.”
Mary rubs her forehead with the back of her hand and sighs.
“Marcus visited me a few weeks ago. He came to ask me a favor. He sees glimpses of the future . . . possible futures. I think it’s a burden more than a Gift. He told me one of his visions, one that he first had many years ago and still sees today. He wanted me to tell you about it. He thought if you knew, you might understand him better.”
“He has a message for me! And you’ve waited till I’m leaving to tell me?”
“If it was up to me I wouldn’t tell you at all. You must understand, Nathan, this is a vision. A possible future. It is only that. But the more store you set in visions the more they have a habit of coming true.”
“Do you have any idea how much I want to hear from him?” I walk away from her and then back again, leaning close to her face. “Tell me.”
“Nathan, there are many White Witches who see visions of the future. If Marcus has seen this vision, you can be sure that the Council will know of it too. Marcus wants you to understand him but also understand the Council.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“There are two weapons that together will kill your father. Both are protected by the Council, until they are ready to be used.”
“What are they?”
“The first is the Fairborn.”
“And?”
“The other weapon is—”
But then I don’t want to hear it. I know what she is going to say, and there is a sound in my head like thunder and animal growling and I want it to stay, grow louder, because this message is not the message I have been waiting for. It has to be wrong. Mary is saying it, but maybe I haven’t heard it right with this noise in my skull. And if the noise carries on I won’t have—
“Nathan! Are you listening?”
I shake my head. “I won’t kill him.”
“That is why you must leave. If you stay any longer with White Witches, the Council will make you do it. You are the second
weapon.”
The Sixth Notification
It’s just one possible future.
That’s the mantra I repeat to myself. There are millions, billions, of possible futures.
And I won’t kill him. I know that. He’s my father.
I won’t kill him.
And I want to see him. I want to tell him. But he believes the vision. He won’t want to see me. Ever.
And if I try to see him he’ll think I want to kill him. He’ll kill me.
* * *
Mary has given me the address of Bob, her friend who will help me find Mercury. She says that I should leave immediately and I tell her that I will, though I’m just saying words. I don’t know what I will do.
I head home.
I want to talk to Gran. I need to ask her about Marcus. She has to tell me something. And Arran’s Giving is now only a day away. I want to be with him for that and then I’ll leave.
I arrive in the evening. It’s still light. Gran is in the kitchen making a cake for after the Giving ceremony. She doesn’t ask about Mary’s party.
I don’t say “hello” or “missed you” or “how’s the cake coming on?” I say, “How many times have you met Marcus?”
She stops what she’s doing and glances at the kitchen door saying, “Jessica’s come home for Arran’s Giving.”
I move close to Gran and say quietly, “He’s my father. I want to know about him.”
Gran shakes her head. She tries to persuade me that she’ll tell me tomorrow but I threaten to shout for Jessica to come and hear the story too. Even though Gran must know I’d never do that, she slumps down in the chair and, in a voice that’s only a murmur, she tells me all she knows about Marcus and my mother.
* * *
In our bedroom I open the window. It’s dark now and a thin sliver of moon is rising. Arran gets out of bed and hugs me. I hug him back for a long time. Then we sit on the floor by the window.
Arran asks, “How was the birthday party?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Can you tell me anything?”
“You tell me about tomorrow. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. A bit nervous. I hope I don’t mess it up.”
“You won’t.”
“Jessica’s come back for the ceremony.”
“Gran told me.”
“Will you come?”
I can’t even shake my head.
He says, “It’s okay.”
“I wanted to.”
“I’d rather you were here now. This is better.”
Arran and I talk for a bit, reminiscing about the films that we watched together, and eventually talking more about his Giving. I say I think his Gift will be healing, like our mother’s. She had a strong Gift, and she was exceptionally kind and gentle; Gran has told me that. I think Arran will be like her. He thinks it will be a weak Gift, whatever it is, but he doesn’t mind, and I know he’s being honest.
Much later he goes to bed and I draw a picture for him. It’s of him and me playing in the woods.
I sit on the floor through most of the night, my head by the open window, watching Arran sleep. I know that I can’t stay for the Giving, not if Jessica will be there. And I can’t tell Arran where I’m going. I can’t even tell him good-bye.
I’m still trying to make sense of my mother and father’s relationship, and why Gran hid it from me, but in the end it’s easier not to think about it at all.
It’s still dark when I leave. Arran is sprawled across his bed, one foot over the side. I kiss my fingertips and touch them to his forehead, put the picture on his pillow, and scoop up my rucksack.
In the hall I switch on the table lamp and pick up the photo of my mother. She looks different to me now. Perhaps her husband loved her—he looks happy enough—but she looks sad, trying to smile but squinting instead.
I put the photo down and walk quickly through the kitchen.
As soon as I’m outside I feel the relief of fresh air. I take a step, two at most, before I hear the hiss of mobile phones rushing at me. Two black figures appear and their hands are on my arms and shoulders, turning me and slamming me into the house wall. I struggle and am pulled away from the wall and slammed into it again. My wrists are cuffed behind my back and I am pulled away from the wall and slammed into it again.
* * *
I’m back in the assessment room. My restraints had been removed after the journey down, which was in the back of a car with a Hunter either side of me. I gathered from their conversation that Gran was in another car that was following behind.
I think about Arran’s Giving ceremony. Gran will not be there, and I realize Jessica came back not to attend the ceremony but to conduct it. The Council will have given her the blood. Arran will hate it. And that’s all part of it too. They love to twist the knife.
I stand before the three Council members. The Council Leader speaks first. “You have been brought here today to answer some serious questions.”
I make an effort to look wide-eyed and innocent.
The woman to the right of the Council Leader gets up from her chair and slowly walks around the table to stand in front of me. She’s shorter than I expected. She’s not in the white robe that Council members normally wear for my assessments; she’s wearing a gray pinstriped suit with a white blouse underneath. Her high heels click sharply on the stone floor.
“Pull up your sleeve.”
I’m wearing a shirt over a T-shirt, and the cuffs are undone as the buttons have been lost long ago. I raise the arm of my left sleeve.
“And the other one,” the woman says. Now that she is close to me I can see that her eyes are dark brown, as dark as her skin, but they contain silver shards that spiral slowly, almost fading and then reappearing brightly.
“Let me see your arm,” she insists.
I do as she says. The inside of my arm is marked by a series of faint thin scars, twenty-eight of them, one for each day that I had tested my healing ability.
The woman takes my wrist between her forefinger and thumb, gripping hard and raising my arm so that it’s directly in front of her eyes. She holds it there and I can feel her breath on my skin, then she lets me go and walks back to her seat. She says, “Show your arm to the other Council members.”
I step forward and hold my arm out over the table.
Annalise’s uncle, Soul O’Brien, hardly gives it a glance. His hair is slicked back in a yellow-white sheen. He bends to the Council Leader’s ear and whispers.
I wonder if they know about the scars on my back. Probably. Kieran would have bragged about what he’d done.
“Step back from the table now,” Soul says.
I do as I’m told.
“Can you heal cuts?” he asks.
Denial seems ridiculous but I never want to admit to anything here.
He repeats his question and I stand silently.
“You must answer our questions.”
“Why?”
“Because we are the Council of White Witches.”
I stare at him.
“Can you heal cuts?”
I carry on with the staring.
“Where have you been for the last two days?”
I don’t take my eyes off him but I answer this one. “I was in the woods near our house. I camped out for the night.”
“It is a serious offence to lie to the Council.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You were not in the woods. You were not in any area that the Council has given you approval to be.”
I try to look innocently surprised.
“In fact, we could not find you anywhere at all.”
“You’re mistaken. I was in the local woods.”
“No. I am not mistaken. And, as I said before, it is
a serious offence to lie to the Council.”
I’m still holding his gaze, and I repeat, “I was in the woods.”
“No.” Soul doesn’t sound angry, more bored and unimpressed.
The Council Leader holds her hand up. “Enough.”
Soul looks from me to his fingernails and reclines in his chair.
The Council Leader calls to the guard at the back of the room, “Bring Mrs. Ashworth in.”
The latch rattles and Gran’s footsteps approach slowly. I turn to look at her when she is standing beside me, and I’m shocked to see a small and frightened old woman.
The Council Leader speaks. “Mrs. Ashworth. We have asked you here so that you can answer the accusations leveled against you. Serious accusations. You have failed to comply with notifications of the Council. The notifications clearly state that the Council must be informed if there is any contact between Half Codes and White Witches and White Whets. You failed to do this. You also failed to prevent the Half Code from moving to unauthorized areas of the country.”
The Council Leader looks down at her papers and then up again at Gran. “Have you anything to say?”
Gran is silent.
“Mrs. Ashworth. You are the Half Code’s guardian and it is your responsibility to ensure that the notifications are followed. You have failed to ensure that the Half Code remained in certified areas and you have failed to inform the Council of meetings between the Half Code and the White Witches Kieran, Niall, Connor, and Annalise O’Brien.”
“My grandmother doesn’t know about anything. And I had no intention of meeting Kieran, Niall, and Connor. They attacked me.”
“Our understanding is that you attacked them,” the Council Leader replies.
“One attacking three. Yeah, right.”
“And Annalise? Did you intend to meet her?”
I go back to staring.
“Did you intend to meet Annalise? Or attack her? Or something else?”
I want to kill her with my stare.
The Council Leader turns back to Gran. “Mrs. Ashworth, why did you ignore the notifications?”
“I didn’t ignore them. I followed them.” Gran’s voice is shaky and small.
