The lump is full of poison . . . Gabriel said it was poison . . . it’s poisoning me . . .
It has to go.
Just cut it out.
I hold the Fairborn. It wants to do it.
It’s light. I’m lying on the ground by a stream. I’m aching but not as bad as before.
Did I cut into the lump?
I can’t remember.
I look down and my shirt is open and covered in dried blood and dried yellow stuff. Lots of yellow stuff. There’s no lump, though.
The stream water tastes good and I’m feeling better. My head’s clear. I’ve drunk lots of water, a stream-full. My wound isn’t too bad now I’ve cleaned the last of the yellow pus out. There’s still a bit of swelling but nothing much. My body doesn’t ache so much. Maybe the poison has gone but the bullet’s still in there so maybe more poison will come out. The worst must be over though as I’m feeling so much better.
I’m not sure what day it is but I think it’s my birthday.
It must be. I’m seventeen.
I AM SEVENTEEN!
And I’m feeling good. I can make it. Don’t need a map now. I recognize the mountains.
I set off and then realize I don’t have the Fairborn. I have the knife that Gabriel gave me, but not the Fairborn.
I run and stumble back to the stream to look for it.
There’s where I cut myself. There’s all the pus. The Fairborn has to be here. I cut myself with the Fairborn. I was by the stream and I stabbed my lump and . . . when I woke up the Fairborn had gone.
I don’t have time for this. I have to go to Mercury’s. Forget the Fairborn. I don’t want it. If I maintain a steady pace I’ll get to Mercury’s just after it gets dark.
The rain is back, heavy drizzle and feeling cooler now. I’m walking up the valley along the road. It’s quicker on the road and I need to be quicker. Only a few cars pass by, their headlights dazzling me, but I stick to the road through three small mountain villages and then cut up the mountain itself. I know the trail but the going is slow as it’s sodden and slippery. Still, I’ll be there in less than an hour of hiking.
I have a pain in my ribs but it’s not as bad as before. I don’t heal it. Maybe the healing made things worse. I don’t know but I can put up with this. I’m going to make it. I will get my three gifts and I will help Annalise.
As I get higher the rain turns to sleet and then to snow. Thick snow. The flakes are huge and seem to parachute slowly. I’m high in the mountains but even so this is far too cold for June. The snow is thick on the ground, up to my knees, and it is slowing me but only a little as it’s so light and powdery that I don’t take huge steps but just brush through it. I look back at the trail I’m leaving but it’s not obvious: the snow is light and collapses on to my tracks, almost as if it’s smoothing itself over. I keep thinking I must be near the cottage but there are no lights anywhere except behind me.
I reach the broken tree trunk, its fractured, splintered ends so sharp and thin that little snow has settled on them. I should be able to see the lights from the cottage.
I speed up and then slow down for the last twenty meters. The cottage is in darkness and I go along its side wall and down the far side to the door. As I am about to go in there is a flash, small and distant below and to the left in the valley. Then sound arrives. A shot. And another. Then lightning followed by thunder. Mercury is fighting the Hunters.
The Hunters must have found the cut, but they wouldn’t have been able to get off the roof if they came through that way. They will have worked out where the cottage is, though; they’d be able to do that. And then they came up the valley. They must have only been a bit ahead of me. And then another thought hits me: if they captured Gabriel and tortured him he would tell them where the valley was . . .
I can’t think about that. I have to find Mercury. I have to head to the shots. Mercury must be there. There’s a swirling cloud in the valley below me, toward the glacier. A flash of lightning shoots out of it. It’s her.
But first I have to see if Annalise is here. I don’t know how much time I have left. Not long.
In the cottage everything is neat and tidy. My things are as I left them. So are Gabriel’s. He’s not been back.
I check the bedrooms.
I don’t know what I expected but I was hoping Annalise would at least be here. She’s not. Mercury must have taken her to her castle, and I don’t know where that is. Is she still asleep? Maybe she woke her . . . but I know she won’t have done.
I put on my jacket and look at the clock in the kitchen. I can work out the time if I try hard enough.
It’s later than I thought. Just a bit more than ten minutes to midnight. I think that’s right.
Or just a bit less. I’ll reach Mercury in time if I run.
I dash outside and take two steps in the direction of the shots. Then I am stopped; I can’t move forward.
The snow is falling around me but the flakes are slowing too . . . and then they stop. The snowflakes hang in the blackness of the night air.
Everything around me has stopped, and all I can do is drop to my knees in thanks.
Three Gifts
My father.
I know it’s him. Only he can make time stop.
And I’m kneeling in stillness and silence. There are snowflakes hanging in the air, veils upon veils, and the ground around me is snow-covered and gray in the gloom. I can’t even see the forest ahead of me.
And then there’s a gap.
Him.
A darker figure in the darkness, flakes of snow hanging in front of him.
He comes closer, flicking a snowflake out of his way with his finger and blowing another gently as he breathes out. He comes closer still, walking not flying, the snow up to his knees.
He stops in front of me, sweeps the snow away with a sideways kick, and comes down to my level, sitting cross-legged a few arm-lengths away.
I can’t see his face, only his silhouette. I think he’s in a suit.
“Nathan, at last.”
His voice is calm and sounds like mine only more . . . thoughtful.
“Yes,” I say, and my voice doesn’t sound like mine but like a little boy’s.
“I’ve wanted us to meet. For a long time I’ve wanted that,” he says.
“And I’ve wanted it too.” Then I add, “For seventeen years.”
“Is that what it is? Seventeen years . . .”
“Why didn’t you come before now?”
“You’re angry with me.”
“A little.”
He nods.
“Why didn’t you come before?” I sound pathetic but I’m so exhausted that I don’t care.
“Nathan, you are just seventeen. That’s very young. When you’re older you’ll realize that time can move differently. Slower sometimes . . . faster occasionally.” He circles his arm round now and swirls the snowflakes until they form a strange sort of galaxy that drifts up and up until it disappears.
And it’s amazing. Watching my father, his power. My father, here, so close to me. But still, he should have come years ago.
“I don’t care how time moves. I said, why didn’t you come before now?”
“You are my son, and I expect a certain amount of respect from you . . .” He seems to breathe in and then out with a long exhalation that disperses a few more snowflakes hovering low to the ground in front of him.
“And you are my father and I expect a certain amount of responsibility from you.”
He makes a sort of laugh. “Responsibility?” His head inclines to the right and then straightens again. “It’s not a word I’m used to dealing with . . . And you? Are you familiar with respect at all?”