The Thousand Steps

by Helen Brain

  A dining-room chair screeches against the flagstones as Lucas stands up. He comes into the room, unclasps the chain and drops the necklace back in the box.

  “It’s a witchcraft trinket,” he says, closing the lid. “Don’t play with it.” And he marches out and goes back to his book.

  “Oh, lighten up,” Cassie snorts. “You’re not on shrine duty now.”

  But the atmosphere of fun is gone. Pamza throws her hat on the bed. “Let’s go and see what the garden looks like,” she says.

  “No,” says Cassie. “There will be bugs and scary stuff. It’s wild out there. Let’s stay here rather.”

  “Here’s something cool,” Dax calls from the sitting room. He’s found the gramophone, and is going through the records on the shelf.

  “Hey,” he shouts. “These are over a hundred years old. I present to you The Ink Spots, with ‘The Java Jive’.” He lowers the needle on the record, winds the handle and this funny old-fashioned music comes out, with male voices singing in harmony about coffee: “Drop a nickle in the pot, Joe. Waiter, waiter, percolator.” Soon we’re all singing it as we dance around the veranda. We collapse laughing at the end.

  “This place is amazing,” Pamza says. “It’s how life must have been before the Purification.”

  Lucas has been reading his book through it all, but now he closes it with a bang. “There’s a reason why Prospiroh brought down the Purification,” he says sternly. “This isn’t the kind of place that pleases Prospiroh. It’s corrupt through and through.”

  Then how come it survived the Purification, I want to ask him, but I’m scared, so I keep quiet.

  “Wow,” Hal exclaims. “You really do know how to ruin everything, don’t you, big brother? No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

  “We’d better go,” Cassie says. She’s looking chastened. “It’s a long way home.”

  They pile into the carriage and I wave them goodbye, feeling deflated. They’ve left a horrible mess – cupboards unpacked, clothes thrown on the beds, the records piled on the sitting-room floor. It takes me ages to tidy it all up. The last thing I put away is the book that Lucas was reading. He’s left it open on the table. I gasp when I see it’s Aunty Figgy’s holy book, the Book of the Goddess. I try to sound out the letters to see what he was reading.

  “So they’ve gone, have they?” a voice says behind me, startling me. It’s Aunty Figgy, and she looks really grumpy. “They made a fine mess, didn’t they? And off they go, leaving you to clean up after them. Typical.” She takes the book from my hands. “So you’ve been reading about the prophecy? Good.”

  I don’t want to tell her that it’s Lucas who’s been reading it. She’ll be furious.

  The atmosphere in the house has changed. It was serene before. Now it feels like the house is rocking from too much noise and unpacking and twirling around to music, and the thought of Lucas makes me feel sick. How can he judge me when he doesn’t even know me?

  Thanks to him, my new friends all think my house is evil. I wish I hadn’t invited them around. Maybe the whole thing was a bad idea, but I’m not giving Aunty Figgy the satisfaction of saying “I told you so”.

  CHAPTER 5

  I wake up next morning with my stomach in a knot. What if Lucas has reported me to the High Priest? It’s not my fault my ancestors worshipped a goddess who the High Priest thinks is evil. He might ban Hal and his friends from seeing me. Then I’ll be all alone here, with nobody but Leonid and Aunty Figgy. Maybe I should ask to go back into the colony. Back to the safe world with the people I love. But I look at the trees outside my window, at the sky, the fluffy clouds. I feel Isi’s soft fur under my hands. How can I go back?

  I wish my mom was here to tell me what to do.

  There’s a knock at my door. It’s Aunty Figgy, with a cup of rooibos tea. She smiles as she puts the cup on the bedside table. “I remember your mom lying in this exact same bed,” she says, stroking my hair. “You look so like her, now that your hair is brown.”

  “Isn’t there a picture of her?” I ask.

  “By the time of the Calamity everything was digital,” she says. “There weren’t paper copies of anything. And when the technology went, so did all our photos. It’s all gone.”

  She picks up my robe from the floor and opens the door of the cupboard. “I remember Ali in this dress,” she smiles, taking out a red dress with a short flippy skirt. “She looked so pretty. Those were the days when we could wear what we liked. Before they took over and made all these terrible laws …”

  She hangs the dress back and closes the door, her face grim for a moment. Then she brightens. “There might be some pictures of her in your great-aunt’s sketchbooks. She was always drawing her.”

  I sit up in bed. “Really? Can I see them?”

  She laughs. “Of course. They’re in the library. Shall I bring them to you?”

  I’ve avoided the library. It makes me feel stupid, my bad reading. I’m practising every day, but it’s taking forever to learn.

  Aunty Figgy comes back with a pile of soft-covered notebooks, each tied with a ribbon. “I’ll leave you to look at these,” she says, putting them on the end of my bed.

  “Aunty Figgy,” I say as she is leaving. “Who was my father? Did you know him? Could I find him maybe?”

  Her back is to me, and it seems to stiffen. She pauses, then turns around. “No idea,” she says, shrugging. “Your mother never told us who he was.” And off she goes to the kitchen.

  I open the first book. There are sketches of trees, flowers, people working in the fields. There are drawings of cars parked in front of the house and page after page of watercolour paintings of the round pond in the forest. I sound out the label at the bottom. Holy Well, Greenhaven, 2022. There’s someone sitting at a table, shelling peas. It’s a young Aunty Figgy. There’s a sweet-faced pregnant woman looking out of one of the long windows in the sitting room. There’s a series of sketches of the same woman and a little girl playing on the beach. The mountain is in the background, and I realise with a shock that it was drawn before the waters rose, when Table Island was still joined to the mainland.

  I spell out the name written on the front of the second book: A–li. That’s my mother’s name. Here she is as a toddler, running through trees, riding a tricycle, laughing at a dog – it looks like Isi; those three big black spots are distinctive, but Isi can’t be that old, surely? She’s asleep at my feet, but now she opens her amber eyes and thumps her tail. In another book I find drawings of my mom sitting on the stoep. She’s asleep, and heavily pregnant. The last picture is of my mom cradling a newborn baby. My mom cradling me. The spotted dog lies at her feet.

  I feel how much she loved me. And I feel distraught that she is gone. The house, everything I own, they feel like a dried-out husk. A house that should be bustling with family. But instead it’s just me, trying to survive when it all feels too hard for one person.

  In the middle of the morning, Hal comes back in the buggy. He jumps out, smiling, and I run down the front stairs to greet him. I’m so glad that he’s here, I forget to feel awkward and give him a hug.

  “I’ve got a gift for you,” he says. “My mother sent it to you.”

  I rip open the package. Inside is a pair of gorgeous turquoise sandals. I take off my ugly serviceable colony shoes and slide my feet into the sandals. They’re so soft and comfortable. And even my oversized feet look elegant in them.

  “I love them!”

  “Get in,” he says. “We’re going for a drive.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  I shout goodbye to Aunty Figgy and get into the buggy after him. He calls to the coachman and we set off. At the end of the farm road, we don’t take the right-hand road towards the shrine and the colony. Instead we go left, along a road that climbs slowly through the hills to a nek in the mountain range.

  “Everything behind that white wall is your land,” he says pointing to a shoulder-high
wall that winds along the road. It’s very old, and tumbling down in places. “Everything here is part of Greenhaven.”

  There’s so much land but the ground here is lying fallow, with just weeds and grass, and a few goats and cows wandering around.

  “I’d love to plant those fields,” I say. “To grow more vegetables, and some medicinal plants. Maybe even corn, so we don’t have to rely on imports from the mainland. But I’ll need extra staff. Aunty Figgy and Leonid are already worked off their feet.”

  “I worry about you, so far from everyone,” he says. His hand is lying on his thigh. Just millimetres from my leg. His little finger brushes my robe.

  My heart starts to beat faster. “I’m fine here,” I say. “I’ve got Aunty Figgy and Leonid and Isi.”

  “I was hoping . . .” he says, looking into my eyes. “I was hoping you would move to the compound. My mother wants you to be closer to the family. She wants to look after you.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. “Seriously? To move in with your family?”

  “There’s lots of room. You could share with Cassie, or have your own bedroom. Then we can see each other every day.”

  “But what about the farm?”

  “My father can find someone to manage it. It won’t be a problem.”

  His hand slips over to my leg. “Please say yes, Ebba,” he murmurs. I look at his hand, resting on my thigh. I want so much to say yes. To belong.

  I want to wake up every morning and feel loved.

  His hand is stroking my thigh. “Ebba,” he murmurs.

  Is he going to kiss me?

  He’s pulling at my heart – his long eyelashes, the plumpness of his bottom lip, the dimples when he smiles, the strong jaw. I can feel his desire flooding me, drawing me closer.

  I get up and open the buggy window. “It’s so hot in here,” I say, sitting down on the seat opposite him. “Where are we going?”

  “Up the Longkloof Pass,” he says, reaching for my hand. “On the other side of the pass is Longkloof harbour. It’s where they hold the markets once a week. The view from the top is spectacular. You’ll love it.”

  He’s looking at me like I’m adorable. I want him to kiss me. I want to kiss him back, but I just can’t. Something is making my stomach knot up, something from long ago, that I’ve tried to blot out of my memory. I push it aside and try and focus on him, on how he makes me feel, right now, in this carriage.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, looking into my eyes. “Please come and live with us. I want to be with you every moment of every day.”

  “I want to be with you too,” I say. And I mean it because he won’t leave me. He won’t kiss me and disappear. He wants me to be with him forever. I’ll be safe.

  He leans across and puts his lips against mine. I slide off my seat and onto his knee, wrapping my arms around his neck. I close my eyes and snuggle against him. His hands run down my back, pulling me more firmly against his body.

  When at last we break apart I slide back onto the seat next to him. Happiness is swirling inside me. I couldn’t ask for anyone better; he’s gorgeous.

  One day he’ll take over from his father and rule Table Island. His family want me to live with them. I can’t believe it. No more Aunty Figgy talking crazy, no more Leonid sneering and despising me.

  It sounds perfect. I’m so grateful to him – to them – for caring so much about me.

  There’s just one thing. “If I come and live at the compound, can I bring my dog?” I ask.

  “Dog?” He looks at me askance. “What do you want a dog for?”

  “I love her. She sleeps on my bed. She follows me everywhere.”

  “Ebba,” he laughs, “dogs are unclean. My father won’t have one in the house. Maybe he’ll let her come, but she’ll have to be chained up in the yard.”

  Chained? My Isi? I swallow. “Oh.”

  “Come here,” he says, pulling me towards him. “Leave her at Greenhaven. You’ll forget about her soon enough …” and he kisses me again. But this time I find it harder to get lost in the moment. Leave Isi behind?

  THE HORSES ARE starting to take strain when finally we round a corner, and find ourselves almost at the top. I can see Greenhaven below us, a patch of green in a sea of khaki vegetation. It’s strange how it’s the only fertile part of the landscape. On one side, it’s nestled against the high grey wall that circles the whole island, keeping back the sea. A long white wall protects the other boundary.

  “Look at that!” I exclaim as we reach the top and the other side of the mountain comes into view. Below us is the wall and then a long narrow fjord. There’s a big island in the middle, joined to the shore by walkways. Shacks have been built into the mountainside and there’s washing flapping on lines and children running around.

  “That’s Boat Bay, where the boat people squat,” Hal says. “I can’t stand them. They’re like vermin, breeding all the time. My father wants to move them away from the island altogether.”

  “But where will they go?” I hope the coachman hasn’t heard Hal. He’s probably from Boat Bay too.

  “Who cares? They have displeased Prospiroh and that’s why they’re poor.”

  We pull off the road to let an army wagon past.

  “I brought a picnic,” Hal says, opening a hamper. “Have a sandwich.”

  But I’m distracted by the load of the huge wagon that’s being pulled by ten oxen. I recognise the sacks as the ones we used in the colony for the dehydrated vegetables to be sent to the storage gallery. What are they doing out here?

  “What’s wrong?” Hal asks with his mouth full.

  “Those sacks – they look like the ones from the colony.”

  He’s rooting around in the basket for another sandwich. “Mmmm,” he says. “Yum, these are so good.”

  “Hal,” I say, shaking his arm, “are they from the colony?”

  “Of course,” he says. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Where are they going to? Why is the army moving them up here?”

  “They’re going to the sheds at the harbour.”

  “Why? There’s a whole storage gallery in the colony.”

  “Ebba,” he exclaims, brushing crumbs off his robe, “why are you so hung up on a boring old wagon? We’re supposed to be having a romantic picnic. I wanted to show you the island from up here, and you’re spoiling everything. And look – now the weather is changing.”

  The wind is picking up and the top of the mountain is covered in grey cloud. The wagon passes, and Hal knocks on the window of our buggy. “It’s going to rain. We should go back.”

  “Yes, sir,” the coachman says.

  The mood has changed. Once we’re on our way, Hal sits staring out of the window, frowning.

  I snuggle up to him. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to annoy you.”

  “It’s not you,” he says. “It’s the stupid weather. I wanted to go all the way to the harbour to show you the sea.” He leans back and puts his arm around me. “I could never be cross with you,” he says. “Ever.” And he kisses me again.

  The sacks. Something is still nudging at my memory. And then I know what it is. It’s Micah.

  Micah, the boy who kissed me. The day after our kiss, we were having our normal Friday-evening meeting. The mentors and house parents had given us their usual lectures about not wasting water, and working hard for the good of the colony, and we’d sung Happy Birthday to those kids who were celebrating in the coming week. Then Mr Dermond, the head mentor, asked if there were any questions.

  Micah was a few rows ahead of me. He put his hand up. “Is it true that you add chemicals to our food so we don’t get horny?” he asked. I could feel my face going red, and I hoped nobody would notice. If anyone knew about our kiss, I’d be teased for months.

  There was dead silence, and then some of the girls giggled. Mr Dermond stared at him. “What do you mean?” he snapped.

  Micah folded his arms behind his head and stared coolly at M
r Dermond from under his black fringe.

  “It’s just, sir, that we’re teenagers. If you look at the kinetikas you can see that in the old world, teenagers had sex. But we all live here, boys and girls together, and we’re all celibate. We’re not even playing with ourselves.”

  “Speak for yourself,” one of his friends quipped, and all the other guys roared with laughter.

  Jasmine hushed them. “Shh. I want to hear the answer.”

  “Prospiroh destroyed the old world in the Purification,” Mr Dermond said sternly. “What you see in the kinetikas is a depraved, wicked population. We are a new people, a people set apart. You have no desire for … er … carnality because you have been cleansed.”

  “With respect, sir,” Micah said, in a tone that showed no respect at all. “We’re meant to be the future breeding stock for the world. But we don’t want to breed. How did you get that right? And don’t tell me it’s because of the Purification. That was thirteen years ago.”

  Mr Dermond looked around the room like the answer was hidden somewhere – under one of the benches maybe, or in one of the cracks in the walls. At last he said, “Look, Micah, the authorities have determined that offspring will only be born in selected years. The numbers of the colony are carefully regulated.”

  “I know that,” Micah said. “But what are they doing to us to stop us wanting to have sex?”

  “I know,” came a voice in the back row.

  We all turned round to see Janine, one of the engineers in Year Five sitting forward on the bench, glowering at Mr Dermond from under her unibrow. “They’ve put something in the protein pellets, haven’t they? Or is it in the hydroponic water? What do you say, Ebba?” She pointed to me. “You’re the best gardener. What do you think? Are the vegetables contaminated?”

  “I can’t see how they could be,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  “Those people in the old world were having sex because they were depraved,” Shameema from Year Three said. “That’s why Prospiroh punished them and saved us.”