The Thousand Steps

by Helen Brain

  “They’re so vulnerable if the authorities decide it’s time for another sacrifice,” Jasmine says.

  The words escape before I have time to think. “I tried to get them out,” I say. “When I asked the High Priest to elevate you, I asked for Fez and Letti as well. He said only if I gave him my amulet.”

  She stares at me with disbelief. She points to the chain around my neck. “That amulet?”

  I realise what I’ve done. My heart drops.

  “He asked you for that amulet in return for the twins, and you didn’t give it to him?”

  “Aunty Figgy says it’s sacred and …”

  “That’s ridiculous and you know it. You’re making excuses.” She jabs the pencil in my chest. “You’d rather let Fez and Letti die than give up a piece of old jewellery.”

  “It’s not like that,” I mutter.

  She stands up, pushing back her chair so hard it clatters to the floor. “I thought I knew you,” she spits. “I really thought I knew you. But I don’t recognise you anymore, giving orders, making your sabenzis your servants, keeping the best rooms for yourself. And now choosing jewellery over the people who love you. No wonder you’re mixing with the citizens. You’re just like them.”

  She storms out, slamming the back door behind her.

  I hang around in the kitchen for a while, hoping she’ll come back and talk to me. But she’s gone.

  I’m devastated. Jasmine is my dearest friend, but now she thinks I’m a terrible person. There’s a gulf between us and I don’t have a way to bridge it. I throw myself on my bed and cry until I’m so tired I fall asleep in my clothes.

  TWO DAYS LATER, it’s Shrine Day. Shorty has offered to drive me – I suppose he’s going to report back to the High Priest on what he’s observed so far. He’s always hanging around, chattering away, while his big eyes watch everything.

  At breakfast he won’t stop talking, but it’s quite a relief to have something to distract me from Jasmine’s brooding silence, and to stop me staring at Micah, trying to figure out why he’s pretending not to know me.

  “I come from the mainland,” Shorty says. “I worked as a clerk at Stellenbosch Harbour, and I have to say I was very surprised when we arrived here.”

  “Why is that?” Leonid growls. He’s taken an instant dislike to Shorty.

  “Well, in the mainland almost everything is dry. If it wasn’t for the goats and ostriches and the prickly pears, ordinary people would starve. There are a few huge farms owned by the Syndicate. Before the Purification, they bought all the land over the aquifers so they’d have enough water for their crops. Very smart thinking. Perfect for growing wheat and mealies. Prospiroh has blessed them mightily. And Table Island is even worse, because it’s all rocks and mountain. But then you get to Greenhaven, and there are trees and flowers and vegetables, and it’s like being back in the day. How do you get it so green, Miss Ebba? Do you also have your own aquifer?”

  I glance at Aunty Figgy. I don’t know the real reason, only her airy-fairy explanation.

  “I have no idea,” I say finally. “I only just got here myself.”

  But Aunty Figgy isn’t letting me get away with that. “This land is sacred,” she says, “to the Goddess.”

  Shorty’s eyes flicker over to the statue in the window. “Her?”

  “Yes. Theia. Who made the world.”

  Shorty laughs. “That’s witchcraft, isn’t it? Or superstition.” He giggles again. “I didn’t think anyone still believed those old tales.”

  Aunty Figgy glares at him. “Eat your eggs,” she says.

  I keep hoping Jasmine will talk to me, or even just look at me, but she’s ignoring me. It’s a relief when the meal is over.

  Hal meets me outside the shrine a bit later. “You look miserable,” he says, searching my face. “What’s wrong?” His kind voice melts me.

  I tell him about fighting with Jasmine. “It’s just so hard,” I sniff. “I’m trying my best but I don’t know how to run a farm. I don’t have a clue how to be a boss. And everyone picks me out all the time.”

  “You poor thing,” he murmurs as I bury my face in his shoulder. He feels so strong and comforting. “You shouldn’t let them upset you so much. They’re your servants.”

  “But Jasmine was my best friend,” I say, trying to swallow my tears. “We’ve been best friends for sixteen years. And overnight I’ve lost her.”

  “Ebba,” he says, rubbing my back, “it’s tragic that you had to spend your childhood in that hellhole, but you’re out now, with your own people. Of course the people who work for you will be jealous. That’s why we want you to come and live here with us – to protect you.”

  Before I can answer, the bells ring to announce the arrival of the procession, and we hurry inside.

  As I sit there among the High Priest’s family, surrounded by his wives and children, I feel like I’m part of a family. Nobody criticises me, and when he greets everyone at the door after the service, the High Priest kisses me on both cheeks and tells me he’s expecting great things of me, and he knows I’m capable of taking on this daunting task. It’s like he’s reading my mind. Hal puts his arm around me and says, “And I’m here to help you, Ebba, every step of the way.” It seems like all the citizens I greet that morning feel the same. We’re all together, helping one another. No fighting or jealousy.

  IT’S A LOVELY autumn day and as we set off home in the buggy, Shorty puts down the folding roof.

  “So, miss,” he says as the horses set off down the hill. “I hope you enjoyed that. I was lucky enough to hear the service from outside, and it sounded very jolly. It’s certainly pretty up here on the mountainside, isn’t it? But I’m certainly looking forward to lunch. Aunty Figgy is such a marvellous cook, isn’t she? This is my dream job, miss. I can’t thank you enough for employing me. But enough about me. Let’s talk about the farm. What are your plans for the week? Are you going to put Victor and Mike to work? I hope so.” And he giggles.

  “We need to prepare the new lands,” I say, thinking through my list. “I hope Leonid can set up the old plough he’s found in the barn, and then we’ll have to plant the seedlings. I want to get the three big fields under cabbages and carrots. Luckily the store room has plenty of seeds.”

  “Table Island produce is the best,” Shorty says as we canter along the mountain road. “Across in the mainland people queue for hours on market days to get their hands on it.”

  “But who is producing it?” I ask, puzzled. “I seem to be the only one with arable land on the island and hardly any of Greenhaven’s land has been cultivated.”

  “It’s from the colony, miss.”

  I go cold. “The colony? You mean inside the bunker? The food they grow there?”

  “Yes of course, miss. It’s the city’s chief produce. Almost all of Table Island’s income comes from sale of dehydrated produce grown in the bunker. Surely you knew that?”

  I had no idea. I try to let the thought sink in. All those years I worked in the nursery, growing seedlings under artificial light, transplanting them into the revolving cultivators, getting the hydroponic mixture just right; the hours I ran on the treadmill to generate the power to turn the cultivators and work the dehydrators … that food I grew for the good of the colony was sold?

  “And who gets the money?” I ask finally. “Where does it go?”

  “Goodness, miss, I thought everyone knew about it. It’s how the citizens make a living. They trade the colony’s produce with the mainland. It commands premium prices.”

  I’m shocked. So shocked I can hardly speak. The High Priest must know about this. Does Hal know? Is that why he got cross when we saw the army wagon on our picnic, and I asked him about it?

  “Are you alright, miss?” Shorty asks, turning around to look at me. “You’re very pale. Would you like to turn back to the shrine?”

  “No, no.” I can’t face them, not knowing this. Not until I’ve thought it through and worked out a response. “I want to go h
ome,” I say, wiping my face with the sleeve of my robe. My hands are shaking.

  “Right you are, miss,” he says, flicking the reins. “Greenhaven, here we come.”

  And finally, I see what’s really going on. Leonid and Aunty Figgy are right. The High Priest, his council and the citizens of Table Island are living off the sweat of my people. That’s why they wanted us to believe that everything is ash above. They need us below, working ten hours a day. Now I know why the storage gallery is out of bounds. So they can cream off what we grow and sell it without us knowing.

  It all makes sense. The bunker is running out of food because most of what we produce is being sold. Sold, so that citizens can live a life of luxury.

  I feel like crying, but I can’t let Shorty see that I’m upset. He’ll report me to the High Priest.

  It’s lunchtime when we get home, and everyone is in the kitchen.

  “Miss Ebba isn’t well,” Shorty says. “She went white as a sheet in the buggy. I thought she must have a bit of carriage sickness, but she’s still pale so it must be something else. Look at her.”

  I wish he would just shut up. Aunty Figgy gets all concerned. “Off to bed with you, my girl,” she says. “I’ll bring you your lunch on a tray.”

  Jasmine looks at me like I’m a spoilt cow, making a fuss about nothing. She and Leonid exchange glances. Victor eats quietly, minding his own business. Only Micah is concerned. “Can I do anything, miss?” he asks. “Don’t you worry, Aunty Figgy,” he says, taking the tray from her. “I’ll help Miss Ebba.”

  He follows me into my room. I climb into my bed and he plumps up the pillows and lays the tray across my knees. He looks at me with those deep brown eyes I remember so well. They’re full of love.

  “Did something happen?” he asks gently. “You seem so upset.”

  Can I trust him? Should I tell him what I know? I want to unburden my heart, tell him everything, share this awful truth with somebody. But I can’t risk it.

  I’d better keep my mouth shut until I’ve got proof. Shorty might be talking rubbish. If I’m wrong, the High Priest will be furious.

  I’ve got so much to lose – Hal, my place in the shrine, my new friends. So instead of confiding in him, which every inch of my heart wants to, I smile weakly and say, “No, nothing happened. I’ve just got stomach cramps.”

  “Okay, then,” he says. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Shorty must be wrong. There’s no way the High Priest would allow the citizens to sell food stolen from the colony. The citizens I’ve met at the shrine are warm and loving and kind. They wouldn’t steal. I fret about it for a few days, and then I decide to go to Longkloof Market with Leonid. I’ll be able to see for myself what’s going on, and explain it to Shorty.

  It’s still dark when Leonid brings the wagon around to the front of the house the next market day. It’s laden high with crates of vegetables, eggs, milk, and bunches of herbs, all produce from Greenhaven. Wicker baskets with chickens and pigeons are tied on the sides of the wagon. He’s ready to make trouble the moment I come out the front door. He looks me up and down and then looks pointedly at the empty seat next to him. “Oh dear, miss,” he says, “it’s really not appropriate for someone of your status to sit with the hired help. Would you like me to fetch one of the armchairs? I could fit it on the back, perhaps.”

  “Leonid!” Aunty Figgy snaps. “That’s uncalled for.”

  I say nothing, though I’m seething inside as I climb up next to him. Before I’m settled, he flicks the reins and the horses set off. I almost fall backwards. I grab the bench, wondering what has got into him. For the next hour, he ignores me. I go over every single exchange we’ve had in the month I’ve known him.

  Why does he hate me so much? Is he still cross that I let Mr Frye blame him for spilling the milk? Surely he can’t be that petty. Is it because I’m a citizen?

  By sunrise, we’re cresting the mountain. One of the High Priest’s carriages is barrelling along the road towards us with a soldier up front, blowing a brass horn. Leonid is forced to pull the wagon right to the edge of the cliff. I look down at the sea far beneath us, and wish I hadn’t. Leonid sees me clutching the edge of the seat.

  He grins. “Scared?”

  I’m not giving him the satisfaction. “No,” I say shortly.

  The carriage is almost upon us. The soldier is blowing his horn louder. Then they sweep past, too close, so they knock the baskets. The hens set up a furious clucking.

  “Stupid peasants,” the soldier yells. “If you can’t drive properly, go back to where you belong.”

  Leonid is seething as we set off again. “Flipping overprivileged oxygen thieves. Think they’re better than everyone else because they own land in the settlement. We should shut them all in the colony and block up the air vents.”

  I know he considers me one of the oxygen thieves.

  I don’t say anything. There’s a long day ahead, and I don’t want to spend it fighting.

  We drive on. The sun has risen and there’s a stream of wagons and carriages on the road, all heading for the market. The citizens have sent their servants out early to do the week’s shopping.

  “How long till we get there?” I ask. “Does it take a long time to set up the stall?”

  He rolls his eyes. “I don’t expect you to do any of the work, miss.”

  “Actually, Leonid,” I say coldly, “you people here above the ground don’t know what hard work is. You try living in the colony, on your feet ten hours a day, growing food in hydroponic rotators and then spending two hours generating electricity on a treadmill. Then you can come and make remarks about me not knowing what heavy work is.”

  “No offence, miss.” His voice is insolent.

  I’ve had enough of him. I grab his arm and yell, “What is it with you, exactly? From the moment I arrived you’ve been horrible to me. I told you I was sorry about the milk jug. I don’t expect you to like me, but what have I done to make you hate me?”

  He flicks the reins so the horses break into a gallop.

  I stare at his profile. He’s squeezing his lips together like he’s trying to hold the words in.

  “What is it?” I shout, wanting to have this out once and for all. “Why do you hate me?”

  He rubs the back of his neck. He looks at my face, then away again, quickly.

  “If you don’t tell me this minute, I swear I’ll fire you, and you can get off right here. And I’ll fire Aunty Figgy too.”

  He looks up again quickly and snarls, “It’s … it’s not you, miss. It’s old history.”

  “Old history? What do you mean?”

  “It’s your mother. Miss Ali.”

  “My mother? You didn’t know my mother.”

  “Your mother, and … and my father …”

  “Yes, they fought together in the resistance. So what?”

  He stares at the floor. I can barely hear his words. “It’s more than that, miss.”

  I stare at him. What is he saying? “Hell, Leonid, just spit it out! What’s so bad you can’t just say it?”

  “I’m … You’re …” His face is dark red. “We’re family, miss. You’re my half-sister.”

  I stare at him. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” His voice is cold and his eyes are fixed on the road. “My mom found out my dad was having an affair and that his girlfriend was pregnant. They had a terrible fight, and he packed a suitcase and left. I remember my mom crying and crying. And he never came back.” He spits out the last words.

  His family broke up because of me. No wonder he hates me. That’s why he got all bitter and sour the moment he heard my name.

  “Your mother,” I ask. “Is she still alive?”

  “Yes. She lives in Boat Bay with my younger sister.”

  “Your sister – is she … is she my …?”

  “Your half-sister. Her name is Alexia.”

  “And you never heard from your father – our father �
�� ever again?”

  “Never.”

  I’m stunned. We’ve turned into the market square. The wagon judders over the cobblestones. Each one shakes my stomach, but not as much as the news that the surly boy next to me is my half-brother.

  Once we’ve arrived at the market, we have to set up the stall as quickly as possible. There’s no more time to talk – even if Leonid wanted to, which he obviously doesn’t. His scowl is deeper than ever, and he ignores me, except to grunt orders as we unload the wagon.

  Customers are already queuing up, and we barely sit down until lunchtime.

  The other stallholders stare at me curiously. I hear Leonid telling the sharp-faced woman who sells soap that I’m his boss, come to check up on him. No mention of our family connection.

  We trade vegetables and honey and chicken for grain from the Syndicate’s farms on the mainland. There are so many hungry people with no money. They’re trying to barter with things they’ve brought in from Boat Bay or Silvermine Island – carvings and furniture made from flotsam, dried seaweed, fish biltong. It’s nothing we really need, but I can’t bear to see them hungry while we have so much. I try to give a hungry child a jar of honey and some nuts, but Leonid stops me.

  “What are you doing?” he snaps.

  “Giving this child something to eat. She’s starving. Look at her.”

  “You think your handout’s going to help?”

  “What? Do you want to just let her starve to death?”

  “You’re all the same, you people,” he says. “Feeling like a hero because you give a kid some honey. Only thing that will help her is destroying the vermin that run this rotten settlement.”

  And that includes me, I think bitterly. Just say it, Leonid. You wish I’d never been elevated. Never come back. You wish I’d been sacrificed.

  AT TWO O’CLOCK we’re sold out. I’ve tried my best to look around and see if there are any stalls selling the produce from the colony, but I haven’t seen anything. I’ll have to go to the docks – maybe I’ll see the sacks being loaded onto a boat for the mainland.

  “Please take me to the harbour,” I ask Leonid as he hitches the horses to the wagon.