Kate Bush's Arc

Chapter 5 of 21

At first light Kate stood in the shed doorway with the empty jar in her coat and a canvas sack at her feet. The sack held four small pouches of salt, all she had bought from the grocer the night before. It was not enough. The north pass was a long walk, and if the pale woman came for her voice on the road, four pouches would spill in one throw. She needed a way to carry more, and a way to spill it fast when her hands were shaking. Ollie sat on a crate watching the rain thin out. He said, you need more than that. Kate said she knew. She could not haul a full sack up the pass without noise, and she could not stop mid-path to untie knots. Mr. Echo was gone before dawn to look for the six missing from town. It was her and the boy. Ollie pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. He said, my mother sewed pockets into a coat once, for nails. Small pockets. One rip and they all come out. Kate looked at her own coat. The lining was old and loose already. She found the sewing tin under the shed bench, threaded a needle, and started cutting strips from a flour sack on the shelf. She worked for two hours. She sewed six long pouches into the inside of her coat, seams weak on purpose. Each held a fist of salt. She practiced ripping one open with her thumb. Salt hit the shed floor in a hard white line. Ollie flinched at the sound. He said, good. That is loud on stone. They left when the rain stopped. The path to the pass ran through wet grass and then up into rock. Halfway there, a collie came out of the mist ahead of them, tail low, ears up. Kate froze. The dog looked at Ollie, not at her. Ollie said, flat, he is with a girl. She lost her body. She is looking for it. Kate understood then that her brother's Lily was near, and that the dog was guiding what was left of her. The collie turned and trotted back the way it came. Kate followed. Her coat was heavy against her ribs, salt shifting with each step. She felt the seams she had made. She could tear any one of them in a second. For the first time since the hill, she was not walking toward the pale woman empty-handed. At the top of the rise, Kate saw the north pass open below her, gray rock and a thin stand of trees. A small figure stood in the trees, barefoot, hair pale. Not her brother. The girl. Kate put her hand on her coat pocket and started down. She had the salt. She had the boy. She had a way through.