Salt (5 page)

Pearl saw animals picking their way down from the hills. The sky was turning pink in the dawn.

‘Are there fangcats in the hills?’

‘I don’t know. There are worse things behind.’

Pearl looked back but could see nothing. She emptied water out of her boots and put them on again, then trudged after Tealeaf over scurfy ground, through spiky grass. The hills rose almost as steeply as a wall. Tealeaf found a way up, turning between boulders and scrambling on goat tracks. They climbed for an hour, then turned for a last look over the wasteland. The sun had coloured it golden and picked out City beyond. The moon, faded to silver, was sinking below the faraway hill where the Bowles mansion, the Ottmar mansion and all the other great houses stood. Pearl could not pick them out. They’re nothing, she decided; but, in her exhaustion, thought longingly of her comfortable bed, and also, in her hunger, of the breakfast Tealeaf brought her each morning on a tray.

Tealeaf would not serve her now, not in that way.

‘We’ll sleep here,’ Tealeaf said, putting down her pack in the shade of a boulder.

‘What if they use dogs to track us?’

‘Confusing dogs is one of the easier things.’

Pearl stayed where she was, looking at City and the squat jumble of Ceebeedee. The dark stain of the burrows spread out to the south, with the sea shining white beyond it. East, and far away, smoke rose from the chimneys of the factory towns where workers stolen from the burrows spent their lives in slave labour. That, at least, was what Tealeaf had taught her – one of the secrets she kept. She could not imagine their lives. How could anyone be poorer than Tilly, who was not even a burrows-woman? She hoped that Tilly would be safe.

Pearl began to turn away. Then she saw a movement on the golden plain – something shapeless, moving fast, leaving a cloud of dust. It took her a moment to work out what it was.

‘Tealeaf. Horses.’

Tealeaf ran to her side. ‘Yes. From City. Hunting us. But now they’re chasing something else. See.’

Pearl made out a figure in front of the horsemen, running towards the river, with something – a dog, was it? – loping at its side.

‘What are they doing?’

‘It’s a burrows-man and a dog. Our hunters are hunting him.’ She peered harder with her cat-like eyes. ‘He’s a boy.’

‘Can we save him?’

‘There’s no way. He’ll get to the river ahead of them, and get across, but they’ll catch him before he reaches the hills.’

‘What will they do?’

‘Kill him.’

‘Stop the horses. Push them back like you pushed the fangcat.’

‘I can’t. It’s too far. Even at the foot of the hills it will be too far. Come away, Pearl.’

‘How do you know he’s from the burrows?’

‘He has brown skin.’

‘Do burrows-people have that?’

‘Yes. A brown-skinned race. Come away.’

The boy reached the river. He scooped the dog in his arms and waded across, then threw the animal down and ran again. The horsemen reached the river and milled about.

‘Tealeaf,’ Pearl cried, ‘it’s Hubert, my brother. See his dappled horse. He’s hunting me.’

‘But he doesn’t let it get in the way of his sport. See, they’re handing him his lance. He will make the kill.’

Hubert, on his dappled stallion, rode high-stepping across the river. The Bowles emblem fluttered at the head of his lance. He spurred his mount onto dry land and closed quickly on the boy. Pearl watched in horror. She tried to scream out to him to stop, but no sound came from her mouth.

The boy looked over his shoulder and stopped running. He turned and faced the horseman, who lowered his lance-point for the kill. He spurred the horse and it leaped forward. Then it whinnied suddenly, and shied and stumbled, throwing Hubert from the saddle. A puff of dust floated up from the place where he landed. He rolled on the ground, then came to his knees – and the boy, instead of running, stood and waited.

Tealeaf had made a small cry as the horse shied. She fixed her eyes on the boy, watching every move.

‘My brother,’ Pearl cried. ‘He’s not hurt, he’s getting up.’ She did not know if she was sorry or glad. ‘He’s getting his sword out. He’s going to kill him.’

Hubert advanced, his blade flashing in the sun. The boy waited. The black and yellow dog cowered at his side.

‘Stop him, Tealeaf.’

‘I can’t. But I think Hubert doesn’t know who he’s fighting with.’

As she spoke the boy moved. His hand came up so quickly Pearl could not see where his weapon had come from: a knife, with a blade that gleamed like coal. Hubert was running at him with his sword held two-handed, pointing like a spear. The boy took a single step, raised his arm and threw. The knife blinked twice as it sped the dozen paces to the man. The blade took him in the throat and sank in to the hilt. Hubert fell.

Pearl felt as if she had been stabbed. She stood swaying. ‘My brother,’ she whispered. Her hand went to her throat as if to stem a flow of blood. Tealeaf moved close and put her arm around her.

The boy walked to the body. He spat on it. Then he withdrew the knife and wiped the blade on Hubert’s jacket. The dog approached and sniffed at the blood. The boy kicked it away. He raised the knife and slashed it at the men beyond the river. They replied with a shout, and began to cross. The boy turned to call the dog who was lapping at Hubert’s throat, and the pair ran towards the hills.

‘They’re safe now,’ Tealeaf said.

‘He killed my brother,’ Pearl whispered.

‘To stop your brother killing him.’

The horsemen surged up from the river and spurred their horses. Several stopped at Hubert’s body and jumped down, but rose at once and shook their spears at the running boy. The others galloped after him, shrieking their battle cry, ‘Bowles and Company’, which had always seemed comical to Pearl when she heard it in military processions. Now it had a blood-thirsty, half-crazy sound.

The boy reached the jumbled boulders well out of spear range, but several of the horsemen had drawn bolt guns from their saddles. The shots shone like yellow stars falling towards him. He threw himself behind a boulder, with the dog scrambling at his heels. The horsemen milled. One or two jumped from their mounts and hunted in the narrow spaces between the rocks, guns held ready, while others threw their spears randomly or fired bolts that pocked the stone with smoking holes – but the boy was gone. Pearl and Tealeaf glimpsed him climbing, fast and sure, heaving the dog now and then in places it couldn’t climb. Soon he was out of range of both spears and guns.

Hubert’s horse had galloped free and several of his company set off in pursuit. Others scanned the cliffs.

‘They’ve seen us,’ Tealeaf said.

Shouts drifted up. Pearl could not make out the words but guessed they would be about dishonour and death.

‘Now they’ll catch us,’ she said.

‘No. These aren’t men who go on foot. They’ll take your brother home. After that there’ll be a search, but we’ll be gone. Take your pack again. We’ll go further on and find a safer place.’

Pearl did not move. Tealeaf saw her horror and confusion at her brother’s death, mixed with fear for herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, then silenced her tongue and spoke in the way that was natural to her. Pearl heard the voice whisper in her head: Your brother’s dead, and grief is natural, even though you didn’t love him, Pearl. But he lived the life he chose and died the way such men die, and he’s gone. Remember, if you can, what was good. Come now, Pearl, come my child. We must leave here and make ourselves safe. Then, when we’ve slept, we must find the boy.

The voice was comforting and soothing, like a balm, like a hand stroking her brow, until those last words, which struck like a hand slapping her face.

‘No,’ she cried. ‘Why do we have to find him? He killed my brother.’

Be calm, Pearl. Make yourself still. We have long ways to go and much to do.

‘Why? Why find him?’

‘Because,’ Tealeaf said, using normal speech, ‘we must. Pearl, do you think your brother’s horse threw him without a reason?’

‘What?’

‘The boy spoke. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he spoke to the horse.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘I would have thought so. But I heard something. A whisper. And the horse shied. And now I must find the boy and speak to him.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought you were the only one, Pearl. The only one I’ve found in all my years in the city. But now, it seems, there’s another.’

‘Another what?’

Tealeaf spoke silently: That, my dear, is what we must find out.

FOUR

Hari threw a strip of meat to the dog and took one himself. They ate on a rock ledge overlooking the plain. Two horsemen led the dappled stallion back to where the dead man lay, and others hefted him across the saddle, tying him so he wouldn’t slide off.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t have time to eat him, dog,’ Hari said. The men no longer bothered him. He was out of range of their bolt guns and they would not risk climbing on the steep paths. He was more worried about the two women in men’s clothes he had glimpsed watching him as he scrambled up. They might have men with them who would be dangerous.

He drank from his bottle, then held water in his cupped hand for the dog.

Keep watching, dog. And keep sniffing with your nose. There are people.

The dog wagged its tail without pausing in its lapping. Hari had grown used to receiving no answer except tiredness, fear, and now and then an uncertain gratitude. He must try to make the animal more confident, and stronger too, or it would be no use to him. It had given no warning in the dawn that horsemen approached, and with its lame foot it had slowed their running. He wondered if it would be better to kill it for food. The dog caught the thought and leaped away.

‘No, dog,’ Hari said. ‘I won’t kill you. You’re something to talk to. But we’ll have to find food soon, and water. One more day, that’s all we’ve got.’

He put the bottle in his pack and stood up, and could not resist shouting at the men below: ‘Death to Company.’ He untied his trousers and pissed at them down the cliff face. One or two raised their guns but did not fire. Hari looked around for the women but they had gone.

‘Time to get out of here, dog,’ he said. ‘Shift yourself.’

They climbed again, then walked in gullies and dry creek beds. At noon they found a shallow cave and slept. There had been no sight or sound of pursuit and no evidence of people living in these hills. As for the women, Hari did not think they would follow him. Something in the way they had stood made him think they were running too.

He woke late in the afternoon. He was worried about food and water. The stream beds stayed dry and he had seen no sign of animals.

Find me a goat, dog. Find a sheep, he said.

They went on until dark, slept again, then travelled by the light of the moon. When the sun came up Hari saw mountains in the distance. They were black with trees at the base and white on top. That must be snow. Lo had told him of snow. If he could get that far, to the trees, there would be water, and animals to hunt and maybe fruit he could pick. But the mountains were far off and the dry yellow hills went on and on.

They ate the last meat and drank the last water. Hari tried not to think of killing the dog. He stopped in a bare gully where a stream might run in the wet months and tried digging with his knife, but the sand and pebbles stayed dry. A few small bushes with spiky leaves grew on the slopes, but they grew no fruit and the leaves were bitter when he tasted them.

‘Come on, dog. We’ve got to get to the mountains.’

They came out of the gully. The land ahead was flatter, sloping upwards gradually. There were outcrops of silvery rock and isolated boulders tall as houses. The mountains seemed further away now that the sun was high. Deep Salt lay somewhere beyond – maybe far beyond. Hari began to understand how hopeless his journey was. But nothing would make him give up. He set his eyes on the highest peak and trudged on.

The dog was ranging out to one side. Suddenly it stopped and gave a soft bark. It sniffed one way, then the other, and set off eagerly, its nose to the ground. Hari followed.

‘A goat,’ he whispered. ‘Let it be a goat.’

They rounded a low hill and the plain opened out again. The dog stopped. Far away something moved slowly – a brown dot among the isolated trees. For a moment Hari could not make out what it was. Then the dot grew larger – from a shape crouching into a person standing – and he saw it was one of the women he had glimpsed as he made his escape from the horsemen. The taller one. She crouched to dig with her hands, gathered something, moved on, dug again.

‘Dog,’ Hari whispered, ‘you’ve found something here.’

If he couldn’t hunt a goat he would hunt the woman. She carried a bag and put whatever she dug into it. It could only be food. He would take it – kill her and get the food. And if the dog could not eat whatever she was gathering, then it could feed on her body.

The dog, understanding, gave a whimper of anticipation. It started forward, and Hari followed, stepping softly. They passed an outcrop of rocks, rising like broken walls from the dusty ground, and the dog stopped suddenly, taking a new scent. It circled, confused, then pointed with its nose.

‘What is it?’ Hari whispered. ‘Something in the rocks?’ Perhaps it was a goat, a deer – or the other woman. He drew his knife.

The dog, low to the ground, crept into the shady side of the outcrop and froze. Hari followed, crouching, knife held ready. A foot came into view, an outflung leg, a leg bent up, then a jerkined torso, then a face, a white face, side on, with eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Hari could not believe his luck: a City woman, Company woman. Sleeping. An easy kill. He heard her sigh and breathe.

He moved closer. Her head was pillowed on a bag. There would be food inside.

Closer.

He saw she was little more than a girl. It did not stop him.

Tealeaf and Pearl had heard the boy shout at the men on the plain and saw him piss down the cliff at them.

‘He’s a savage boy. We’ll have to be careful,’ Tealeaf said.

They waited until he and the dog had gone, then made their way to the rock ledge where they had stood. Below them, the Bowles horsemen were riding in a dejected band across the river. Hubert’s body, wrapped in a cloak, was tied across the saddle. Pearl said goodbye to her brother silently. She imagined her father’s rage and grief. Hubert had been the oldest son, bred to lead Bowles in its expansion. Now there were only the stupid ones, William and George. She turned away.

‘This boy leaves an easy trail,’ Tealeaf said.

‘I can’t see it.’

‘Smell it, Pearl. He smells of hatred.’

Pearl tried to open her mind, sliding it through her senses, and seemed at last to catch a smell like something going bad at the back of a shelf.

‘Yes,’ Tealeaf said, ‘we follow that.’

They set off carefully, but soon Pearl let the scent fade, left it to Tealeaf, and used her eyes instead, trying to pick out footmarks on the ground.

‘He’s going fast. Heading for the mountains,’ Tealeaf said.

‘I can’t see mountains. Is that where we’re going?’

‘Yes. Two more days.’

They followed, although the boy was out of sight. When his scent spread into a pool, they knew he was resting. They retreated, found shade and rested too. Pearl slept, then they started again, following the boy’s pattern. Pearl thought she saw mountains gleaming in the distance, but lost them as she and Tealeaf walked through shallow gullies. In the morning the peaks stood tall and clear, and further off than she had expected. She lost heart.

‘Do we have to catch him?’

‘Not yet a while. We can go ahead and wait. I’ll have to gather food. We’re running out. Food for him too. He won’t know how to find it out here.’

They moved off to one side, then ahead of where the boy must be, keeping downwind so the dog wouldn’t take their scent. At midday Tealeaf said, ‘Rest, Pearl.’ She pointed to a strip of shade narrow against the foot of rocks. ‘Call if you need me. I won’t be far away.’

‘What food can you find out here?’

‘You’ll see. Try to sleep.’

Pearl lay down, using her pack as a pillow. It made her jealous that Tealeaf seemed more concerned for the boy they followed than for her. She did not seem to realise what Pearl was suffering: loss of her brother, loss of her home. Images of her old life played in her mind – food and soft eiderdowns and clothes and entertainments – then she thought of Tilly, who had sheltered them and fed them, and gradually her tiny house and well-used bed became the place she would choose to be. It seemed warmer and more comfortable, with Tilly stirring stew in a blackened pot at the stove . . .

After a few moments Pearl slept without dreaming, but soon a disturbance crept in from one side – an eddying of mud in the still water of her sleep. It grew and had a smell and shape, and something hard and sharp reached out from it, turning its point, seeking her. She woke with a gasp. The boy stood over her, holding a black-bladed knife. His face was filled with hatred; his eyes burned like the fangcat’s they had met on the plain. He reached for her, to hold her still and plunge the knife.

Pearl said, ‘Stop,’ and he did not.

She swam underneath her terror, looking for a word, and found it – any word, as long as she spoke it, thought it, in the right way.

Stop, she commanded, soundlessly.

It was almost right. He jerked his head to one side as if avoiding something thrown at him. Stepped back, shook himself, looked at her with fear and calculation. He stepped further away, four steps, and raised his knife to throw.

‘Be still,’ Pearl said, firmer now, finding the source more easily.

He gasped and seemed to fight a creature that had leaped at him and fastened on; tried to push it, stab it. ‘No,’ he screamed.

Stop, Pearl said silently. It was easier silent.

He panted and fell still, and slowly his eyes began to glaze as she had seen the gateman’s and the Whip’s when Tealeaf commanded.

Put down your knife.

He bent in a drugged way and laid it on the ground. Behind him the dog began to howl.

Be quiet, Pearl commanded.

She stood up and gathered her pack. Now what do I do? she thought. She had no idea how long she could hold the boy, or if she could stop him again if he woke.

Go, she told him, run away as fast as you can. Never come back.

He began to shake his head and punch the heel of his palm against his temple, as though to shake something out.

Go away, she commanded.

But this time her voice seemed to waken, not hold him, and the layer of drugged sleep began to move slowly off the surface of his eyes. He reached for the knife.

Don’t touch it, she said. Leave it there.

His hand slowed as though he were forcing it through tar, but he pushed – she heard him push with his mind.

Be still, she said.

He answered her – words like an insect scratching in a paper bag: You can’t stop me. I’m stronger than you.

Stay still, she replied.

I’ll kill you, he said. Then he spoke aloud: ‘How long do you think you can hold me, girl? In a moment you’ll be too tired. Then . . .’

Be quiet, she said, and saw him jerk with surprise at the strength of the command. But he wrenched his eyes away from her and forced his hand down again to pick up the knife.

Leave it, she said, more quietly. Step back. Go away.

No, he replied. I’ll wait. And you’ll step back, and I will kill you. He spoke aloud: ‘Company dies. You saw me kill the horseman. All of you will die.’

She struck him with her mind, visualising it – a hand-slap with a dozen times her natural strength, drawing power from a source she had no time to understand – and the boy reeled back, almost standing on the dog. He looked at her and gave an ugly grin.

‘You can’t do that again. You’ve used up your strength.’ Then he changed his attack. She heard him make the command: Bite her, dog.

The animal slunk at her.

Stop, dog. Lie still, she said.

With a whine of bewilderment, it obeyed.

The boy grinned again. ‘We can do this all day. And in the end I’ll win. I am stronger.’

Pearl did not believe him; she was stronger – but he was right; he would win because she had made commands that exhausted her, and now she could barely keep awake.

Pick up your knife and throw it away, she said.

He jerked his head again as though she’d slapped him, then obeyed: he picked up the knife. But instead of throwing it he turned to face her.

‘My father’s knife makes me strong,’ he said. He took a step back to get his distance, and although she cried: Stop, then cried it aloud, he balanced the knife in his hand and raised his arm. He drew back his shoulder to throw.

‘That’s enough, boy,’ Tealeaf said.

He swung around. Tealeaf was standing beside the furthest wall of rock, and seemed to Pearl almost as tall. The boy was not afraid.

‘Two to kill,’ he said, and set himself to throw again.

Stop, Tealeaf said, and Pearl heard the difference from her own commands. This was effortless, and closed the boy down like the setting sun. Tealeaf could leave him there forever if she chose, leave him standing like a statue beside the rocks. The dog howled and ran.

Come back, dog, Tealeaf said. No one will hurt you.

She walked past the boy, taking no notice of him, and put her hand on Pearl’s brow.

‘Cold,’ she said. ‘You’ve used yourself up.’

‘He was going to kill me,’ Pearl whispered.

‘Yes, I felt him. I came as fast as I could.’

‘I stopped him.’

‘I felt that too. You’ve found it, Pearl.’

‘The word?’

‘There is no word. There’s a way. He has it too. But both of you are children, you’re like buckets full of holes, spilling your strength everywhere.’

‘I can’t help it,’ Pearl said. She felt tears running down her face. ‘If I hadn’t pushed him back . . .’

‘Yes, you did well. And now you’re tired. You need to sleep.’

‘Send him away first.’

‘No, we’ll keep him. Don’t be afraid, he’ll be asleep too.’ She said to the boy: Lie down over there in the shade. Sleep until I tell you to wake.

He turned with stiff movements, and lay down and closed his eyes.

Let go of your knife, Tealeaf said.

He unclosed his fingers and the knife slid to the ground. Tealeaf picked it up.

‘You too, Pearl.’

‘I don’t need you telling me.’

She moved as far from the boy as the shade allowed, arranged her pack, rested her head on it and slept at once. This time she dreamed. It was peaceful at first, with a peace greater than any she had ever known: landscapes of hill and mountain, the hills golden and the mountains blue. She drifted over them, and floated down long flanks of bush and gully to the sea, where rivers emptied, staining the blue with green, and long low waves turned over on themselves and ran foaming on beaches of yellow sand. One moment Pearl hovered over them; the next she was sweeping away, almost as high as the clouds. Far below white birds dived at schools of fish, which slid sideways with a silver flash as they escaped. The sun shone. A breeze touched her face. Pearl, she said, my name is Pearl, and she felt the knowledge of who she was open like a flower. Her mind became still in the glow and harmony of it: she was Pearl. She had never known such certainty before.