Free Salt by Maurice Gee Page A

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.
    She slept on and the dream faded and nothing disturbed her for good or bad during a time that, when it ended, seemed to have lasted her whole life. Then she turned – turned over in the shade of the rock – and dreamed again – and now suddenly the fish were torn and