Kate Bush's Arc

Chapter 15 of 21

Will's voice was back in his mouth, and it had called something. Kate heard the grass past the fourth oak flatten under weight that did not belong to any animal. The salt ring still held, but it was thinner than an hour ago. Will was already talking again, saying her name, saying he was sorry about the soup. Every word pulled the thing outside closer. "Stop," Kate said. She put her hand over his mouth. His lips moved under her palm. She felt each word try to get out. "Will. Stop talking. It hears you." His eyes went wide. He nodded once against her hand. When she lifted her fingers he kept his mouth shut, but a small sound leaked out anyway, a hum from his throat he could not seem to close. Mr. Echo watched his brass needle drop toward the grass. "He can't hold it in," he said. "His voice just came back. His throat doesn't know how to be quiet yet." He looked at the fourth oak. Something on the far side of it took another step. "We have minutes." Kate pulled a salt pouch from her coat and tore the seam. She did not pour it. She thought of the jar, still cold in her other hand, still smelling of her brother's voice. She looked at the two ghost rabbits by the stone, the pair who had come with Mr. Echo. "Can you carry sound out of him," she asked them, "the way the box carried yours?" The male rabbit tilted his head. The female stepped forward and touched Will's throat with one thin paw. "Into the jar," Mr. Echo said. "Not all of it. Just the hum. Leave him the words." Kate uncapped the jar and held its mouth under Will's chin. The female rabbit pressed her paw down. Will gasped. A thin cold thread pulled up out of his throat and curled into the glass. Kate capped it fast. Will's mouth kept moving but no sound came. He mouthed her name, silent. He mouthed, I'm here. Outside the ring, whatever had been coming stopped. Kate heard it turn in the wet grass, listening for a voice that was no longer leaking through the oaks. Above the trees the moon showed her face between clouds, watching, patient. Marrow's voice came low from where she crouched by the salt line, a scout's whisper. "It's leaving. West. Toward the boulder." She had not spoken in an hour. Kate had almost forgotten she was there. Will looked at Kate. His hand closed on her wrist again. He could not speak, but his eyes said he understood the trade. Kate held the jar against her chest. She had his voice a second time, and a second time she could not give it back. Not yet. Not until they were off this hill for good.