by Helen Brain
The worship leaders end their hymn. They blow out our candles and take them from us. Then Major Zungu opens the door and gestures to us with his gun. “Go.”
We’re on a metal staircase that runs up the inside of the round shaft. I clutch the handrail and look over the edge. The sleeping cells, washing areas, composting and water storage tanks are below us. I look up and it stretches forever, flight after flight clinging to the rock face like a bean plant creeping up a growing frame. At the very top there’s a tiny circle of blue, the size of my fingernail.
The sky.
I’ve finally seen the sky.
My soldier nudges me with his gun. “Hurry up!”
I follow the others up the stairs. Fourteen steps then a sharp turn and up the next fourteen. A turn, another flight. I trudge on flight after flight until the sweat runs down my face and my shift sticks to my body.
“Where are you taking us?” Shameema asks. She’s one step ahead of me, cradling her broken arm against her chest. The soldier marching next to her doesn’t respond.
“Where are we going?” she says, louder. Still nothing.
I’m trying to work it out too. I try to recall everything we’ve learnt about the colony in class. It’s buried deep inside Table Mountain. The top part of the mountain is sandstone. The lower half is granite. Hard, impenetrable granite. That’s where they built the bunker, where we’d be completely safe.
It’s a thousand steps from the bottom to the top of the bunker. We’ve climbed ten flights so far. By my reckoning we’ve passed the workshops, the weaving galleries, the plant rooms and the levels where the animals are kept. That’s as high as we’re allowed to go. Above that are the out-of-bounds areas – the storage galleries, then the army barracks and the High Priest’s galleries. Above that is nothing but six hundred metres of solid sandstone, with a web of ventilation tunnels running through them.
Shameema’s voice is rising. “What are you going to do with us? Are you going to shoot us?”
“They wouldn’t waste their bullets,” Jaco says wryly, looking back. “They’re probably going to throw us over the edge of the mountain.”
“I said shut up,” the guard snaps. “Get in there.”
Major Zungu pushes past us, and unlocks the metal door. We step into a low, narrow corridor. The end is flooded in light. Daylight. Real light, not refracted through the complicated system of mirrors and skylights that only the engineering teams understand. It’s when the gust of wind hits us that I realise where we are.
“We’re in one of the side shafts,” Jaco exclaims.
“They’re going to open the end and shove us out,” Shameema says. Her voice cracks.
“But we’re not at the top yet,” one of the Year Fives says. “Maybe we won’t fall far.”
I can hear the hope in her voice, but she’s forgotten how high they say Table Mountain is. I try to imagine what it will be like if by some chance I do survive the fall. Everything is dead out there. No plants, no people, just ash and burnt rock. I’ll die of thirst, or starve.
We reach the end, and two soldiers are struggling with the bolts that hold the thick metal grille over the end of the shaft. Shameema is sobbing, and I put my arm around her. Jaco hugs us both. The three Year Fives huddle together, sniffing.
“This damned bolt is jammed,” one of the soldiers grumbles, hitting it with the butt of his rifle.
But it comes undone suddenly, and the grille clangs to the floor. A blast of dust and dried leaves swirls inside. Major Zungu grabs one of the Year Fives and shoves her towards the opening. She gives a sharp scream that ends abruptly as she drops out of sight.
I clutch Shameema and Jaco. My mouth is filling with saliva. I’m going to vomit.
Now Major Zungu has the second Year Five girl. Tears are streaming down her face and she wrestles with him. It’s futile. I look away as he bashes her head against the wall, and tosses her out before she can crumple at his feet.
“Please, Prospiroh,” Shameema prays, clutching my shoulder with her good arm. “Lord Prospiroh, I have been faithful to you. I’ve worked hard for you. Save me. Please save me.”
“The witch next,” Major Zungu snaps. “Red-haired bitch.” He pulls me away from Jaco and Shameema.
“No!” I screech, digging my heels into the floor.
Major Zungu takes me by the shoulders and shoves me to the edge of the tunnel. I cling to the metal rim. I’m teetering on the edge. Below are rocks. Bare rocks and two blood-splattered, white-robed bodies. I clutch the rim, resisting him with everything I have.
Suddenly there are footsteps running up the passage behind us. “Change of orders!” a soldier bellows, and Major Zungu lets go of me. With a gasp I fall backwards into the passage.
“High Priest wants to see the witch,” the soldier says.
Major Zungu pulls me to my feet. “Get up,” he snarls. “She’s all yours, Captain Atherton. Enjoy.” He leers as he shoves me towards the strange soldier who is out of breath from running so fast.
Jaco and Shameema look terrified as Captain Atherton marches me past them. They’re thinking the same as I am – the High Priest has chosen a special kind of death for me. Probably something more agonising. Something more suitable to a female born with the curse of the red hair.
CAPTAIN ATHERTON TAKES me back to the stairwell. We keep climbing upwards and I become exhausted. If they’re going to kill me, I wish they’d just do it, instead of wearing me out bit by bit. But the circle of sky is getting bigger, the natural light is creeping into the stairwell and I focus on the beautiful clear blue, the single puffy cloud. At least I got to see the sky, I think wryly.
There’s a black speck in the sky. It’s a bird like we’ve seen a hundred times in the old kinetika movies they show us on Friday nights. I blink. Did I really see that? I can’t have. Nothing can live on the surface of the earth. The only living animals are the goats, pigs, hens and rabbits that give us food and clothing in the colony. And even they are getting weaker each year.
At last we reach the top. Above me is a huge, transparent roof. And above that is the sky. I’ve never seen a colour so intense, and I stare at it. Captain Atherton bashes on a door, and it’s opened from outside.
It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the flood of light that blinds me. When I open them at last I see a huge window that fills one wall of the room. I rush over and peer out. Is it true … is everything destroyed?
Table Island lies below me. The sky sweeps down and meets the brilliant blue-green ocean. The slopes of the mountain aren’t blackened and burnt. Instead there are bushes, scrubby plants scattered between the rocks. I can even see a few dashes of yellow and pink. Flowers. I’ve seen flowers at last.
The world is bigger, more wonderful, more overwhelming than I ever imagined. My eyes fill with tears. I’m so busy gathering every detail that I don’t notice a second door opening.
“You’re a lucky girl,” a voice says behind me. A strange man stands there, wearing a bright-blue robe. He’s middle aged, well fed, and smiling broadly.
Who is he? Is he the executioner?
“Please,” I beg. “Before you kill me, just give me a few more minutes to see the world above.”
He takes both my hands in his.
“My dear Ebba,” he says. “We found you in the nick of time. You’re not being sacrificed, you’re being elevated. You’re the missing Den Eeden heiress. I’m here to take you home.”
CHAPTER 3
Home?” My jaw drops. “I’m not going to die?”
The man chuckles. “Of course not. I’m Fergis Frye, the Den Eeden family lawyer. You’re the heiress who disappeared as a baby, and I’m so delighted to find you. We looked for you high and low, and here you were all along, under our noses.”
I stare at him, uncomprehending. I’m an heiress? I’m part of a family? I’ve got a family.
“This way,” he says, opening the door. “I’m taking you home to Greenhaven.”
We step out into th
e fresh air and I gasp. Everything is so intense – the noise, the wind and sun, the smell of clean air after sixteen years of being below. I stand on the doorstep looking down at the mountainside that falls away beneath my feet, and I’m terrified. It’s so open. So big.
“Come on, dear, don’t be afraid,” he says. “Just follow me.”
I take a deep breath and follow him down the long concrete staircase that cuts into the side of the mountain. I don’t want to look at the drop to the bottom. I’m in a cold sweat of fear. The wind pummels me so hard I’m afraid I might be blown off. I grip the handrail and concentrate on putting down one foot after the other for flight after flight of stairs. I’m reeling from the morning’s events. It can’t be true. This must be one of the High Priest’s jokes.
Finally we reach the bottom. I take a deep breath and dare to look around. We’re on a road, and a shiny red buggy drawn by two horses waits. I know what they are because Ma Goodson used to show us kinetika movies before the equipment wore out. She wanted us to hear and see and smell the old world. She told us that horses were all dead. Everyone – all the mentors, the guards, the worship team – they all told us that everything had been destroyed. Why did they lie?
The coachman jumps down and bows to me. “Good morning, miss,” he says, opening the door.
I’m flummoxed. What am I supposed to do? “Good morning,” I say, and bow back.
Mr Frye laughs. “We don’t bow to the servants, dear,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn our ways soon enough. I’m so glad we’ve got you out of the colony, back in your rightful place as a citizen. After you,” he says, gesturing to the open door.
Where are they taking me? I pull back, look up at the mountain. I’ve spent my life inside it, locked in the grey stone tunnels and galleries, scuttling around in the semi-dark with the other two thousand. Jasmine, Fez and Letti are still in there, probably crying their eyes out, thinking I’m dead. If only I could send them a message to tell them I’m okay.
But Mr Frye is in a hurry. He’s still chuckling over my bowing, and I go red. “Come now,” he says, holding out his hand. I don’t exactly have a choice. I climb inside and sit down opposite him, and the driver closes the door. The horses whinny and snort, and off we go, jolting down a steep road that winds down the mountainside.
“I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone,” Mr Frye says, still beaming. As we drive away I can finally tear my eyes away from the strange new world around me and look at him properly. He’s wearing a blue robe and pants with embroidery around the neck and hems. His grey hair is pulled up into a knot on the top of his head. I’ve never seen anyone like him. He’s so plump and polished.
“They’re going to be so excited when they know you’ve been found,” he says. “I couldn’t believe it when the High Priest sent a message to say I had to come quickly. It’s only been a few months since your great-aunt died, and we didn’t know what to do. We’d sent all the staff away, except for the garden boy and the woman who cleans the house. And then you turn up, in the colony. You can’t imagine how thrilled the High Priest is. We all are. It’s so exciting.”
“Is my family alive?” I ask. “My mother?”
He leans over and takes my hand. “I’m sorry. You’re the very last Den Eeden. Your mother, Ali, died many years ago when you were a newborn baby.”
“And my father?”
“Ahem.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m afraid we never knew who your father was.”
“So I’m alone?” I’m alone without any family, without my sabenzis? My heart sinks. I’ll never know who I am now.
He squeezes my hand. “You’re not alone, Ebba. You’re a citizen now. You’re one of us.”
“A citizen?”
“The people who live on Table Island. It’s where you belong.”
I don’t want to be with people I don’t know. I want to be with the people I love, and if my family are all dead, then I want to live there with Jasmine and the twins. But they’re inside the colony, still believing that the world above ground is so damaged, it’s not safe for humans.
I grip the seat and peer out over the side of the cliff. The land is dry, the plants struggling, and there are ruins of buildings and rusted old cars abandoned on fragmenting roads. But there are people walking freely, and children playing outside a cluster of pointed stone buildings built in the shadow of a huge grey wall. They look sleek and happy, just as Mr Frye does. Why did they lie to us?
Behind the wall is the ocean. It’s more beautiful than I ever imagined. The wind is rippling the surface, and near the shore, breaking through the waves, are the ruins of the city that was flooded in the Purification. The city where my family once lived.
IT’S MID-AFTERNOON and I’m starving by the time the buggy slows and then turns down between a pair of high white gateposts.
“Welcome! Welcome to Greenhaven.” Mr Frye beams. “This marvellous old farm has been the home of the Den Eeden family since 1697, and it all belongs to you! You lucky, lucky girl.” And he pats my knee, delighted with himself.
I gasp. I was expecting a modest house with a patch of garden. But this is a whole farm with fields stretching out on either side as far as I can see. We drive for ages along a dirt road, the buggy jolting in the potholes, and I try to take it all in. We pass a row of white cottages. “The old slave lodge,” Mr Frye says. “The staff live there. That’s the orchard,” he gestures with a manicured hand to the rows of trees on the right. “And on this side are the grapevines. They’re looking a bit neglected. With your great-aunt so ill we went down to the bare minimum of staff … But back in the day Greenhaven was famous for its wines.”
At last we turn a corner, and there is a white house with a thatched roof, a curly-topped wall at the front and green shutters. There’s a long building on the right, also thatched.
“That’s your house, and this here is the jonkershuis,” Mr Frye says. “It houses the farm offices.”
A big dog comes running out of the house, barking. I flinch. I’ve seen how vicious dogs can be in kinetikas. It had better not come near me.
“Here we are,” says Mr Frye brightly. “I bet you can’t wait to see inside. You’re going to be so thrilled. I know I would be if this was all mine.”
If I survive that long. There’s a wild animal waiting to attack me.
“Just be quiet, Isi,” he orders the dog. “This is your new mistress.”
The dog belongs to me? I don’t want it. Its teeth are huge.
“Come on, Ebba,” Mr Frye says brightly. “Isi won’t hurt you.”
I climb down from the buggy and freeze as the dog comes over and sniffs me.
“See? She’s as gentle as the proverbial lamb. Now, where’s Leonid? He will show you where everything is. I’ll be back tomorrow and we can chat then. I’ll have some paperwork for you to fill in.”
He’s going? Just like that? Dumping me here and driving off? And who’s Leonid?
A guy of about nineteen or twenty saunters down the steps. He has heavy eyebrows and a fierce stare. “Morning, Mr Frye,” he says in a rough voice. “Got the message. Prepared the front bedroom.” He turns to me with a smile. “Morning, miss.”
“Leonid,” Mr Frye says, gesturing dramatically towards me. “We’ve found Ebba den Eeden!”
Leonid’s smile shrinks.
“How extraordinary is that?” Mr Frye continues. “It’s a miracle. Praise be to Prospiroh!” And he grins like I’m a magic trick that he’s performed, and he wants Leonid to clap. But Leonid is glaring at me from under his black eyebrows. I take a step back. What have I done? You’d swear I was his worst enemy.
“Ebba, this is Leonid Markgraaf,” Mr Frye continues. “He and Aunty Figgy work for you. Leonid is in charge of the gardens and the horses. Aren’t you, Leonid?”
Leonid scowls at the ground. He won’t make eye contact with me.
“People work for me?” I stutter, wondering why this guy was perfectly friendly until he heard my na
me. “I thought we all worked together, for the common good. For Prospiroh.”
“Oh yes, we do,” Mr Frye says cheerfully. “You’re right, you’re right. Aunty Figgy is away at the moment?” he says, turning to Leonid. “She’s in Boat Bay with your people? Send a messenger pigeon to tell her to come home at once.”
“Yes, sir,” Leonid growls. He’s stopped staring at the ground. He’s looking me up and down like I smell disgusting.
Mr Frye pats my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, my dear, but I have to run.” He makes a mock pout. “You don’t mind, do you? The High Priest is expecting me back for a council meeting. So much paperwork to sort out. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m thrilled to meet you. Thrilled. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow, and I’ll bring my godson, Haldus Poladion. You’ll like him, I know you will. He’s the High Priest’s son. And he’s very handsome!” He winks, climbs into the buggy, knocks on the side, and the horses clip-clop off down the driveway. The barking dog runs after them.
“Get back here, Isi!” Leonid shouts. “Heel.” The dog keeps on chasing the buggy until it’s halfway down the drive, while Leonid keeps shouting at her. Great, so she’s huge, wild and unmanageable. At last she turns and runs back to him, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, grinning.
“You’re a bad dog,” Leonid says, fondling her ears. “Chasing Mr Frye.” She wags her tail. “Where’s your luggage?” Leonid says abruptly.
“I … I don’t have any,” I say, trying not to move in case the dog goes for me. “I came from the colony.”
“Colony, miss?”
“Yes, the colony. I’ve been elevated.”
“Congratulations,” he sneers. “Anyway, your face is bright red. Better come inside.”
I know I’m flushed from the heat, but I wish he hadn’t pointed it out. And I can’t follow him up the steps because Isi is blocking my way and I’m too scared to move.