by Helen Brain
THE RISING TIDE
BOOK 2
HELEN BRAIN
Human & Rousseau
For Ted
Tempus fugit.
CHAPTER 1
When I was in the colony, I dreamed of seeing the sky. I pictured it endless and serene, a great blue nothing stretching forever. I never imagined it could be grey as granite. But today it hangs as heavy as my heart.
I’m waiting for the guards to arrest me for killing the High Priest. Waiting for Micah to come home. It’s been two weeks and one day since that morning in the cave when we watched the sun rise over the mountains.
“Whatever happens,” he’d said, “remember I’ll always love you.” Then he risked his life to distract the guards so we could escape. I haven’t heard from him since.
I keep imagining him lying on the rocks with a bullet in his head. I try and push away the image but it creeps back, getting into all the nooks and crannies of my mind like the cold wind blowing off the mountain.
My dog, Isi, sighs and rests her head on my foot. I fondle her ears, watching the leaves swirl across the driveway. Why hasn’t he come home?
I take a stick and dig it into the new crack in the stoep floor. The earthquake knocked down the gable over the front door too, and the holy well has broken open.
Aunty Figgy keeps tutting over it. “The Book of the Goddess foresaw that dark forces would be released,” she keeps saying. “The moment they shed your blood, I knew we were in for trouble. And this isn’t the end of it. Believe me, this isn’t the end.”
Are the dark forces keeping Micah away?
Sitting next to me on the stoep, Fez turns a page of his book. I thought it would be perfect when our sabenzi group was safely out of the colony, but everything has changed. Fez never stops reading. Shorty and Letti have eyes only for each other – right now they’re at the end of the meadow, knee-deep in leaves, searching for chestnuts. Jasmine and Leonid are trampling a pile of cob so they can mend the gable, laughing and throwing mud at each other, and I jab the stick into the crack remembering a time when Jasmine would have picked me first before anyone.
Even Clementine, my ancestor who guided me through so much when I came to Greenhaven, has disappeared.
She’s gone, along with the amulet. The High Priest had it, but he dropped it in the holy well. Before I could grab it, the bees swarmed onto his head, the Milkwood fell and I was knocked out cold. When I regained consciousness the earthquake was over, he was dead, and Major Zungu had taken his body away.
There’s no sign of my amulet. We’ve searched and searched around the holy well, but it’s gone. I’ve lost the most important thing I’ve ever owned. Now all four are missing.
Aunty Figgy bustles out of the house with her broom and dustpan. “No good sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, Ebba,” she says firmly. “You’ve got work to do.”
I ignore her. I’m watching an ant crawling down the crack. I wish I could also find somewhere dark to hide.
“You need to get up and start looking for those amulets.”
Aunty Figgy leans over and adjusts the sling around my injured shoulder. “Ebba, don’t give up hope. The boy will come back … although I think you’re better off without him.” She points to the storm clouds building up in the north. “Look, the rains are coming. It’s less than two months until the winter solstice. Remember the prophecy? You have to find all four amulets before the solstice so that the portal to Celestia can be opened. We’re all depending on you, Ebba.”
Back in the colony, Ma Goodson used to read us a fairy tale about a miller’s daughter. Her father owed the king a lot of money, so he told the king, “My daughter can spin straw into gold.” The king took the girl into the palace, shut her up in a room filled with straw, gave her a spinning wheel and said he’d be back in the morning. If there wasn’t any gold, she would die.
That’s how I feel, except if I don’t spin the straw into gold, the whole planet will die. I’ve got two months to find the amulets or a second Calamity will wipe out Earth, and we’ll all disintegrate into dust.
It’s not the worst option, in my opinion. Especially if Micah doesn’t come home.
Leonid is up the ladder with a bucket, slathering cob onto the wall, when he suddenly shouts, “Someone’s coming. It’s an army carriage.”
“Quick, Letti,” Shorty yells. “This way! Fez, come.” He has set up a hiding place in the forest, deep in a thicket, where the soldiers will never find them.
Aunty Figgy picks up Fez’s book and gives it to me. “Pretend to be reading,” she says. “Stay calm.”
I clench the empty chain in my fist. I need Clementine. I need Micah. But I will have to face the authorities on my own.
CHAPTER 2
A few minutes later, Captain Atherton jumps down from the carriage and Isi growls. Grabbing her collar, I take a deep breath, lift my chin and face my enemy.
“Yes, Captain,” I say, looking him firmly in the eye. “What can I do for you?”
“Miss den Eeden,” he says, saluting. “You are to come with me.”
I swallow, adrenaline pumping. “Are you arresting me?”
“Simply following General de Groot’s orders.”
I could refuse. But Fez and Letti are in the forest, and Jasmine is hiding inside the house so the Captain won’t recognise the “boy” who escaped from prison. I can’t risk Captain Atherton searching the farm again – I’ve got to get him out of here.
Aunty Figgy comes out with a cape. “Be strong,” she whispers as she wraps it around my shoulders. “I’ll call on the Goddess to help you.”
I need all the help I can get.
Captain Atherton opens the carriage door and I climb inside, trying to block out the memory of how he and Major Zungu forced me into another carriage just two weeks ago, and how Major Zungu stole my amulet from me. And how my blood was spilt when I cut my head on the window glass, releasing dark forces that so far have made a carriage crash, caused an earthquake, killed the High Priest and possibly kept Micah away. What will they do next?
I’m terrified. I grip the edge of the seat as we set off, every nerve wound tight, and I try to read Captain Atherton’s expression. Why does the general want to see me? Why hasn’t he come back to search for Letti and Fez? Where is Hal?
And are the rumours true? Has there been a military coup?
As we turn into the road, I look at the mountain looming above us and try to think positive thoughts. Inside are over two thousand people crammed into a bunker. Maybe he’s planning to elevate them all. Maybe he wants to give me the good news in person. But in my heart I know that’s not true.
The horses take a corner too fast and I grab the leather handle as I’m flung against the window, my injured shoulder jolting with pain. My heart pounds. If more of my blood is shed, will more dark forces be released? What other damage can they do?
*
WHEN WE DRIVE past the shrine, I notice that the golden sheaves – the emblem of the Prosperites – have been ripped off the doors. The place is crawling with soldiers. We reach the offices and a group of soldiers is gathered around the statue of the High Priest, trying to pull it off the stone pedestal.
Captain Atherton’s face is impassive as he opens the carriage door and gestures to me to get out.
“Follow me.”
I look up the flight of stairs flanked by stone lions – it’s a long, long way to the top. The last time I was here, the council warned me there would be no more chances. I know that if I walk up these stairs, I may never come down again.
Another carriage drives up and Mr Frye leaps out and comes bustling towards me.
“Ebba,” he murmurs as he kisses me on both cheeks. “I’m so glad to see you looking so much better.”
“Please, Mr Frye, don’t let them …” I start to whisper but, before I can finish, Major Zungu appears in the doorway and salutes. Revulsion floods me as I look into his dark face. “Miss den Eeden,” he says with a curt nod. “This way.”
But instead of going up the stairs, he opens a door in the wall and enters a gloomy passage leading into the mountain. I follow, desperately trying to read his body language. He’s marching with his usual gait – shoulders back to balance the weight of his heavy paunch, jutting jaw, arms stiff by his sides. He seems as impenetrable as the rock walls, and as hard to read. But I know the violence this man is capable of. I adjust the strap over my sore shoulder, recalling how he grabbed my amulet, punched me in the stomach and threw me so hard against the carriage window that the glass broke.
We turn a corner and descend a steep flight of stairs lit by burning torches. My heart tightens with each step: This isn’t the way to the council chamber. When we reach the black iron gates at the bottom of the stairs, I know we’re heading towards the prison cells. They’re going to lock me up, and this time there will be no escape.
It’s over. I’m going to die in here. I’m sixteen, and my life is about to end. I falter, look back to see if I can run for freedom. But there’s a guard behind us with a rifle, and three standing in front at the gates.
“This way,” Major Zungu snaps as a guard unlocks the heavy padlock.
I shiver as we follow him through the gates and down another corridor. The air here is cold and stale. My lungs feel like they’ll never fill up. Someone nearby is whimpering, and my gut twists with fear. I want to grab Mr Frye’s hand, beg him to take me out into the sunshine again, and to set free whoever it is I can hear crying like she’s given up hope.
We turn a corner and I see who is weeping. It’s Cassie. She’s crouched in her cell but when she sees me, relief flickers in her grimy, tear-stained face. She jumps up.
“Please help us,” she whispers gripping the bars. “Help me, please, Ebba. They’re … hurting me.”
She’s been beaten. One eye is swollen shut, her hair is matted. I flinch as she reaches out – there’s a huge bruise on her arm.
“Please, Ebba, we’re your friends. I gave you my favourite robe – the turquoise one, remember? I gave you shoes too. Don’t leave me here.”
I have no words; my throat is tight with fear.
“They’re going to shoot us all!” She’s suddenly hysterical. “Stop them, Uncle Fergus, stop them!” She grabs Mr Frye’s robe and tries to pull him towards her.
“We’ll see what we can do,” Mr Frye says, untangling her fingers. “You stay strong now.”
Cassie was my friend. What are they going to do to her?
I try to swallow but there’s a stone in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Cassie, I don’t know … I …” My voice bounces off the narrow walls, sounding louder than it is.
For a moment she looks like the High Priest: She lifts her chin and her hooded eyes half close. She thinks I’m choosing not to help her.
“Come along, Ebba,” Mr Frye says, moving on.
In the next cell is Evelyn, Hal and Cassie’s mother. She’s sitting at the back, head sunken. But when she sees me she runs to the bars. She’s always been so groomed and pretty. Now she is haggard, her robe dirty and torn as though someone has tried to rip it off. When she beats on the bars with her fist I see that there’s a raw, bloody mess where her thumb-nail used to be.
I can’t look. Is Major Zungu going to pull out my nails too? He’s standing back, face blank, as Evelyn starts to scream.
“Get us out of here! Get us out!” She’s banging on the bars, and blood drips from her thumb.
Why is she telling me to let them out? I’m in as much trouble as she is.
Her face darkens. “You always were a self-absorbed little bitch, Ebba,” she snarls. “And you, Fergus Frye, you’re a spineless little creep.” She spits onto the hem of his robe.
“Yes, dear,” Mr Frye says smoothly. “And a lovely day to you too.” He flicks the spittle off, and turns away. “Come along, Ebba,” he says. “Horrible people. They deserve what they have coming.”
“We’re the chosen ones of Prospiroh!” Evelyn screeches as we move down the corridor. “He’ll punish you for this. You’ll lose everything – your house, your farm, your friends. You’ll be poorer than the dirty boat people. Especially you, Ebba den Eeden!”
Mr Frye smiles drily and leans over to murmur in my ear. “Don’t let her upset you, dear. The Prosperites are finished. The general has banned any worship of Prospiroh, and good riddance to bad rubbish, if you ask me.”
“So there’s no new High Priest?”
“No priest, no shrine, no religion. The army has taken over everything. ”
“Hurry along, please,” Major Zungu snaps. “The general does not appreciate being kept waiting.”
We’ve reached the end of the corridor. We turn left, and then left again into another row of cells – cells for three more of the High Priest’s wives. I hurry past, trying not to make eye contact, feeling each one’s gaze bore into my back. Soon I’ll be in a cell like these, cramped and smelling as bad.
Mr Frye pulls out his hanky and covers his nose. “Disgusting.”
The source of the smell is an overflowing toilet bucket in the corner of the next cell. It’s a small stone room packed with the children, all fourteen of them. The youngest is just a toddler, and like the others he’s slumped against the wall, staring at the floor.
But when they recognise me, they run up to the bars.
“Ebba, Ebba!” they chorus. “Let us out. Please, Uncle Fergus, take us home.”
The toddler runs up too, wearing just a shirt. He’s filthy – they all are. Filthy and half starved. I can’t believe this is the happy family I shared meals with after Shrine. Their cries slice into me and I pause, holding out my good arm to the toddler, but Major Zungu scowls and gestures to me to hurry up.
Around another corner, the youngest wife, Nomkhululi, is cradling a tiny baby, her haggard face wracked with worry. She ignores Mr Frye but reaches a thin arm to me through the bars. “Please, Ebba, take my baby. They’re going to kill us. She hasn’t done anything wrong …” Tears run down her face and the baby wakes up with a feeble wail. She holds the child close, rubbing her tiny back. “Please, ask the general if you can take her.”
I stare, seeing an image of my own mother holding me when she faced down the army. “Mr Frye?” I turn to him.
Major Zungu reaches in and shoves Nomkhululi in the face. “Move along,” he snaps. “Move along.”
Hal is in the next cell. His face is swollen out of shape. Some of his teeth are gone and there’s a festering sore on his cheek. Seeing me, he limps forward, his eyes fixed on mine, his face hopeful. “Ebba, I knew you’d come.”
“There’s nothing I can do, Hal,” I whisper.
“You have to.” He presses his once handsome face against the bars, just inches from me. “You said you have powers from the Goddess.”
I swallow. “Not any more. Your father stole my amulet, Hal. Where is it? I have to get it back.”
He ignores my question. “They’re hurting Cassie.” His voice cracks. “You’ve got to get her out of here.”
“I’m so sorry, Hal,” I whisper, reaching for his hand. “They’re arresting me too.”
He looks taken aback, and then the light in his eyes seems to go out. He lifts his lip and spits in my face. “Liar! You’ve joined them. I always knew you would.”
I’m stung. “What do you mean? I haven’t joined them. I loved you, Hal. I just didn’t want to marry you, and your father tried to force it.”
“You were too busy with that garden-boy scum,” he snarls. “If we’d got married, none of this would have happened. It’s all your fault. First you kill my father, and now you won’t even save a newborn baby. You fooled me, you really did, with your big-eyed innocent act! You’re nothing but a two-faced, murdering slut …”
“Keep moving, Ebba.” Mr Frye’s voice is firm in my ear. “Come along.”
We’re reaching the end of the passage. I can see the gate, thank the Goddess. But there are two cells before we get to it, and the door of the second one stands open.
Please let it be Micah in that last cell. Please let me have found him.
But then I hope it isn’t. I’d rather imagine Micah on the mountain, in the open air with the sky above him and the sun on his cheek, even if he’s dead.
Three more steps, and at first it seems there’s no one inside. Then I see a figure huddled next to the wall, arms wrapped around his long thin legs, head bowed.
He doesn’t look up.
“Lucas!” I hiss. “Lucas.” I crouch down next to the cell bars, trying to see his face.
He half lifts his head.
“What have they done to you?” I gasp.
His face is smeared with blood, there’s a gash down his chin and it looks like his nose has been broken. But it’s his eyes that shock me.
They’re dead. Totally dead.
I want to hold him until they light up again. I have to help him.
“Mr Frye,” I get up and grab his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter what they do to me, but you have to get Lucas out of here. He saved my life. He brought me the keys when the High Priest locked me up.”
Major Zungu turns. Oh Goddess, did he hear me? If he did, he’ll punish Lucas even more. He’s scowling under his thick eyebrows. So much hatred in one look.
“Hurry up,” he barks, pulling at the door of the unlocked cell. He’s going to throw me inside, I know it. This time there’ll be no Clementine and her little boy to help me, no Lucas to bring me the key or draw me a map. They’ll hurt me like they’re hurting Cassie. They’ll break my nose and pull out my nails, and I’ll be here forever until I rot and fester like Hal’s wounded cheek, until I die. Without the amulets, not even the Goddess can help me.
“Please, Mr Frye,” I half sob. “Don’t let them lock me up. Tell the general I’ll do everything he says. Everything.”