Читать книгу Elevation 1: The Thousand Steps - Helen Brain - Страница 9

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 the 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 name. “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.

“She won’t hurt you.”

I don’t want him to think I’m pathetic, so I take a breath and sidle past the dog and follow him up the stairs. He’d be scared of dogs too if he’d never seen one before.

The front door opens onto a huge room that runs down the centre of the house. It’s darker and cool inside, and there’s a sweet, earthy smell.

He gestures towards the first doorway on the left. “Your room. En suite.”

“Thanks.” I don’t know what en suite is, but I don’t want to ask. He already thinks I’m an idiot. I peer through the door. This is my bedroom? It’s huge. There’s room for at least twenty people. There’s a huge bed with four curly poles holding up a roof and curtains around it. Two massive wooden lockers stand on either side of it.

“Do you also sleep in here?” I ask.

His face darkens. “Not part of my job.” He spits out the words.

I’m confused, then when I realise what he’s thinking, I go even redder.

“I didn’t mean that,” I say. What must he think of me? “It’s just that …” Forget it, I think. He’s already turned away. He doesn’t want to hear that in my world we’re never, ever alone, and it’s normal to share one sleeping cell with two hundred people.

“I’m going now,” he says. “What you want for supper?”

He’s got me on the back foot again. We eat what we’re given in the colony. Unless it’s a special occasion like a birthday, it’s the same thing every meal – a vegetable stew with protein pellets.

“Um …”

He’s waiting, with one eyebrow raised. I feel about half a metre tall.

Whatever I say, it will be wrong. He thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed lowlife. I’m not going to give him anything more to criticise. “I’ll eat anything,” I say gruffly. “Whatever’s easiest.”

He gives a curt nod and goes off. The dog has followed him, thank goodness. I don’t fancy being left alone with that brute.

I close my bedroom door and go into the bathroom. The light in this room is soft too – the windows are small and set deep into the thick walls. I kick off my sandals and stretch my feet on the wooden floors, savouring the warmth as I walk across to the basin. It feels good after walking on rock all my life.

There’s a long mirror, so I take off my robe and look at my reflection. My skin is so white it almost glows. I’m like a grub that has never seen daylight. A dirty grub, covered in a layer of dust from travelling. I step into the shower quickly and wash myself. Someone has left a half-used bottle of shampoo on the window sill. I wish I knew more about the mysterious great-aunt who has left me a fortune, and a bottle of shampoo that smells of lavender.

I find a red dressing gown behind the bathroom door and pull it on. When I come out, Leonid has lit the lamp, and there is a tray on the bedside table with a pot of tea, and what I recognise from Letti’s book as a tomato-and-cheese sandwich. Letti’s parents put a family recipe book in her memory box, and one of our favourite things was to page through it, drooling over the recipes. I can’t wait to tell her I’ve tasted it at last. But then I realise I’ll never see her again. I have no one to tell. I try to enjoy my meal but it feels strange to be eating all alone on a huge bed big enough for four people. I finish my meal, and lie back against the soft pillows. It’s quiet in here, and the room is full of shadows. No one is breathing near me.

My dream has come true – I’ve come home. But there’s no one here who loves me. No parents, no sisters and brothers or grandparents. I’m completely alone.

I swallow down my tears and climb under the duvet, pulling the curtains closed around the bed. That’s better. It’s more like the bunker.

I fall asleep. When I wake up a while later and peer out through the curtains, the room is dark and the wind is blowing the trees outside my window. I hope it doesn’t blow a tree onto the house. What if something crawls up out of the floor and bites me? It’s a scary world out there – full of dangers I don’t know anything about.

The house creaks and there’s a strange noise, like someone scratching on my door. I creep out of bed and tiptoe across the room to lock my door. As I turn the key, I hear a soft whine. Opening the door a crack, I peep out. The dog is standing there, looking at me with big melting eyes.

She doesn’t look vicious. She looks sad. She wants to come in. “Are you lonely?” I ask. “Did your family all die too?” She licks my hand.

“Come on then,” I say, opening the door wider. She runs across the room and jumps onto the bed. “Now don’t go biting me,” I say as I gingerly climb back onto my side. “Your job is to look for baddies.”

She gives a big sigh and rests her head on my leg. I tentatively touch her. She’s pretty – white all over, except for three big black spots on her back. Her tail gives two thumps. “Good dog,” I say, stroking her head. “Pretty Isi.”

I lie there trying to process everything that has happened. In just twelve hours I’ve gone from thinking I’m about to die to discovering I’m an heiress; from being crowded in a bunker with two thousand kids to being totally alone in a strange house.

I wish I could get a message to Jasmine and the twins. If only they could be here with me.

Suddenly a ray of light shines into my room. It reminds me of an old sci-fi kinetika we saw years ago, about aliens landing on earth. Micah and the older boys thought it was hilarious, but I didn’t sleep for weeks, imagining them walking around on top of the mountain, looking for a way into the bunker so they could destroy us.

I lie under the duvet, just my nose sticking out, watching the ray move across the room. Is it searching for something? For me? I’m about to run into the passage screaming for Leonid when I realise it’s just the moon.

I go to the window and peer out into the star-splattered sky. The silver moon is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Not an alien in sight.

DURING THE NIGHT I dream my old recurring dream. I’m walking in a forest. The trunks are thick and twisted and tower over me. I’m looking for my mother, desperate to find her. I see a woman walking in the distance but before I can catch up with her, she disappears.

I feel the familiar sense of sadness. She’s left me. She wouldn’t wait.

I hear a rooster crowing and I wonder why I’m sleeping in the poultry gallery. There’s a strange clopping sound I can’t place, and I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Where am I? Why hasn’t the waking siren gone off yet?

Then I realise there’s a ray of real sunlight streaming through the window and a dog yawning at my feet, and the sound is of horses walking on the road that runs around the house. I’m in my new bed, in my own house, in my new life. I get up and open the wooden lockers. They’re packed with clothes – robes like Mr Frye’s, and pretty clothes like the ones people used to wear long ago. I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear here. I’ll have to wait for someone to tell me what my uniform is. So I pull on my white shift and pants again and stand at the window. Horses are eating grass in a field. Chickens are scratching in the plants, running around freely in the open. The sky, the trees, the vibrant green … They take my breath away.

I go out into the hallway. Twenty people could sit at the table that runs the length of it. I imagine my family sitting at this table, filling all the seats. And now they’re all dead. It makes me miserable, so I cheer myself up by imagining Fez and Letti and Jasmine and me enjoying a feast, like in the old kinetikas, and servants bringing in all the food from Letti’s recipe book.

I investigate each room – there are three more bedrooms. One for each of us. There’s a really big sitting room filled with paintings, and a study. But it’s the kitchen I’m heading towards. I’m dying to see what other food I can find, and Leonid’s not here right now to make me feel stupid.

Just as I hoped, the kitchen is big and homely, with a kettle on the hob and pretty china on a dresser. I take a blue-and-white striped bowl and go into the pantry. I’m not sure what everything is, but I dip my fingers in and taste everything, like a naughty child. “This all belongs to me,” I tell myself. “I can eat it all if I want,” but after sixteen years in the colony, where everything was shared, I still feel like I’m stealing.

I recognise the yoghurt from my ninth birthday meal. I can’t believe there’s a whole bottle of it here, and it’s all mine. I serve myself a bowl, add a teaspoon of sweet sticky golden liquid I think may be honey and sit down at the table to eat it. It’s so good I lick the plate. Leonid almost catches me when he comes in, stamping the dust from his boots on the doorstep.

“Oh. It’s you,” he says. “Mr Frye’ll be here soon.” He grins. “You’ve got something on your nose.”

I wipe off a smudge of yoghurt. Oh, great. More things to despise me for.

I begin to wash my bowl but he stops me. “Not your job. Leave it.”

“What is my job?” I ask. “When does the work siren go off?”

He snorts. “Your job, miss? You’re a citizen. Your job’s sitting around all day ordering the servants around.” And he turns on his heel and marches off. Isi runs after him.

I sit down, and wonder what to do next.

We worked in the colony. Twelve hours a day. I was Ebba, “the girl who could grow anything”, part of sabenzi group 4.7, Year Five. I got up when a siren went, ate breakfast when the siren told me to, started work. Each moment in each day was allocated and all I had to do was be obedient and work my hardest. For the common good, so we could all survive.

But up here, who am I?

I’m just a girl with a big house and nothing to do.

I go out of the front door, and follow the driveway around the side of the house. I pass rows of rain tanks, chicken coops, go through a half-open door in a wall, and I’m in a kitchen garden. So many food plants, all growing in the ground. Just the sun, the soil, and rows and rows of vegetables.

I fall onto my knees, hands in the earth, sniffing it, feeling it crumble between my fingers, feeling the coolness when I dig down a little way. Insects fly around a row of plump purple aubergines. The ones we grew in the colony were a quarter of this size. Beans dangle from frames, tomatoes cluster together, ripening in the sun. I pick one and take a bite. I’ve never tasted anything as wonderful as this fresh tomato, warmed by the sun and grown in the earth.

Leonid comes past then, pushing a wheelbarrow along the dirt path. “Like gardening?” he grunts.

“It’s the best thing in the world,” I say, and his brooding face almost shifts. “Please can I help?”

“Fine. Vegetables need picking, and stake the tomatoes.”

We work together all morning, and I’m happy with my hands in the dirt, happy under the sky and in the fresh air. If only Jasmine and the twins were here with me, it would be perfect. Leonid seems more cheerful, and I think maybe we can be friends after all. Maybe he’s shy, or was in shock, and now he’s getting used to me.

“I wish I could take a basket of your vegetables to my sabenzis in the colony,” I say as we go towards the kitchen at noon. “Let them see what real fresh vegetables ripened in the sun look like.”

“They say food’s running short there,” Leonid says.

I stop in my tracks. “Really? But we’ve been dehydrating the excess and sending it to the storage galleries. There must be a massive stockpile.”

“That’s what I heard.”’

I ponder this. They lied to us about the outside world. Could they be lying about the food too? Why?

“What will happen when it runs out?”

He’s pumping water at the well, but now he stops and shrugs. “Who knows?”

“They’ll have to elevate everyone,” I say.

“Pah! Table Island can’t feed thousands more. Won’t elevate them.”

“Then what will happen?”

He’s scrubbing his hands like the dirt has gone down to the bone. “How’d I know?”

I don’t ask him any more.

He’s probably got it wrong.

I go inside to shower. Mr Frye is coming, and I’m filthy.

I’VE JUST FINISHED showering when I hear Mr Frye’s nasal laugh in the hallway. There’s another voice too – a male’s. I quickly check myself in the mirror on the front of the wardrobe. My robe is too dirty to wear again, especially if I’m meeting the High Priest’s son, so I pull on a robe I find in the wardrobe. The colour is astonishing – a deep indigo blue, with yellow embroidery around the neck. I smooth back the tendrils of hair escaping from my plait, take a deep breath and open the door.

“Ebba!” Mr Frye says, giving me a hug. “You look stunning. Doesn’t she, Haldus?” He releases me, and pushes forward a guy a year or so older than me. “This is my godson, Haldus Poladion.”

“Hal, please.” The guy takes my hand and gives it a triple shake, looking into my eyes all the while. “All my friends call me Hal,” he says with a cheeky smile.

He’s gorgeous. A strong nose, square jaw, large black eyes, and skin like burnt butter. All the boys I’ve ever known have worn the same clothes as me – the off-white tunic and pants. Even Leonid wears a grey version of it. But Haldus is wearing a flowing crimson robe and pants, and he looks like a king.

“I am here on behalf of my father,” Hal says. His grin is gone, and he’s looking me in the eye. “He would like me to extend his sincere apologies to you for the unfortunate incident in the colony. Had he known who you were, he would have elevated you far sooner. He hopes you can forgive him and the Council.” And he smiles again. “Friends?”

For a moment I pause. He’s calling almost murdering me an “unfortunate incident”? But Hal is so cute with his dimples and the mischievous twinkle in his eye, that I can’t resist. “Of course,” I say. “Apology accepted.”

“All good, all good,” Mr Frye beams. He snaps his fingers. “Leonid, don’t just stand there. Fetch some tea.”

Leonid hurries to the kitchen and Mr Frye turns his electric grin to me. “Let’s go into the sitting room and have a chat.”

His hand on my back guides me through the door.

“Have a seat, Ebba,” Mr Frye says, gesturing to a deep sofa. I sink into it, and he and Hal sit opposite in armchairs. The walls are lined with paintings and I keep staring at one on the far wall. Something about it is so familiar.

Leonid comes in and puts a tray on the low table.

“We have a lot to discuss,” Mr Frye says, ignoring him. He pours the tea and passes me a cup.

Hal is so … so … then I think of the word: polished. Everything about him gleams – his teeth, his eyes, his nails, even his skin. I feel rough next to him. Mr Frye is talking about investments, developments, making the best use of my windfall, relinquishing the burden and adopting a new lifestyle, about doing what’s best not just for me but for the settlement as a whole, etcetera, etcetera, but I stop listening. It’s all too complicated. My eye falls again on one of the paintings on the far wall. It reminds me of something, but I can’t think what.

Suddenly I see what the picture represents. It’s the forest – the forest where I walk in my recurring dream.

“Who painted that?” I blurt out.

“Try to follow, Ebba,” Mr Frye says. “This is important.” Then he smiles benignly. “I suppose this information is overwhelming for you. You’re so young, and you’re a girl. Much better to leave it all to me. The picture – yes, that is one of your great-aunt’s works. She was a famous painter, before the Purification.”

My great-aunt? How on earth did she paint what’s in my dream?

He talks on about art and investments and income and how he will look after my money for me, and pay the servants’ wages, and anything I want, I just have to ask him. I’m half listening, trying to work out what’s going on.

“You can’t live here alone,” he says, “with nothing to do all day. We’ll have to sort something out for you. Hopefully it won’t be long before you can move to a settlement, nearer to the rest of the citizens. You could move to Newlands settlement, or even Woodstock or Vredehoek would be fine. This farm is so far away from everything, you’ll be lonely here with no neighbours. It was alright for an old lady, but you’re a young girl with your whole life open before you, and you’ll want to go to parties and entertainments and mix with young people your own age, and maybe the High Priest will select a husband for you …”

I’m transfixed by the painting. It’s my dream exactly – the forest, the path where my mother disappears.

“I hope you’ll be alright here with Leonid for a day or two. I’ve warned him that if he so much as lays a finger on you …” He sees the alarm in my face. “Don’t worry about it, my dear. He wouldn’t dare, but you never know with these rough boat-people. Perhaps I should send over a maid or two from my house to cook and clean for you until Aunty Figgy gets back. Leonid looks after the kitchen garden and the maintenance on the house. He’ll also drive you anywhere you want to go.”

“Drive me? I can go anywhere I want?”

He and Hal laugh as though I’ve said something really amusing. “You don’t seem to understand, my dear. You’re an heiress. Of course Miss den Eeden had a buggy. And yes, you can go anywhere you want. You’re a citizen now.”

He snaps open his briefcase and takes out a sheaf of papers. He puts the papers on the table and takes a pen and a bottle of ink out of his case. “I’m going to need your signature on these, please.”

“Um …” I begin. I have to tell him I can’t write, but it’s so embarrassing, especially in front of Hal.

Leonid knocks on the door. He’s come to clear away the tea tray. Mr Frye barely acknowledges him.

I feel awkward being waited on. “Thank you, Leonid,” I say, clearing my throat.

He grunts.

“Hurry up, boy,” Mr Frye snaps. “Miss den Eeden is waiting.”

Leonid jumps. Hal gives a little snort of amusement.

I lean forward to put my cup on his tray. My hand knocks the milk jug and it tips over. I try to pick it up, but I bump the tray with my elbow. Leonid tries to save it, and next thing the tray is upside down on the table and there is tea everywhere.

“You idiot!” Mr Frye yells, grabbing his documents and shaking them. “Do you know how long it took for my scribe to write these out? They’re soaked.”

Leonid is glowering at me. “Sorry, Mr Frye, sir. It was an accident.”

“Get out of my sight,” he shouts. “I swear to Prospiroh, Leonid, now the old girl’s gone, there’s no reason to keep you on here.”

Leonid glares at me, piles the crockery on the tray and leaves.

Mr Frye shakes the liquid off his papers and then shoves them into his bag. “I’ll have to come back. Idiot,” he mutters, getting up. “You need better staff. I’ll look for someone else. My butler will know someone, don’t worry. I’ll come back tomorrow and tell them both to be out by the end of the day. Let’s make a fresh start with new staff.” He pats my shoulder. “But now I have to run.”

Hal pauses as Mr Frye scuttles across the driveway to the horses. “Shall I come and visit again?” he asks, giving me a hug. “You must be missing your old friends.”

I’m not used to being hugged. Physical contact was discouraged in the colony. But I love hugging him. He feels so strong and his kindness brings a lump to my throat. My eyes fill with tears but I force them back. I can’t cry in front of him. He’ll think I’m pathetic.

“I’d like that,” I say. I wish he could stay now. I don’t want to be alone in the house with Leonid. It was my fault the milk jug tipped over and I should have said something.

Mr Frye is still in a temper. He swings his leg over the horse and settles in the saddle. “Goodbye, Ebba,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to be inconvenienced by that idiot boy. Your great-aunt had a soft spot for him. Prospiroh alone knows why. We’ll find you someone better. It’ll be a temporary solution. We need to get you a home in Table Island as soon as possible.”

“See you soon,” Hal calls as they ride off. His red robe and trousers shine against the glossy black coat of his horse. He’s the best-looking boy I have ever seen. And the kindest.

AT LUNCHTIME I’M back on my own. Leonid has left a sandwich on the table and disappeared. I eat it hurriedly, trying not to listen to the sound of myself chewing. I hate being alone.

After lunch I decide to explore the forest. Isi comes running after me as I follow the fence that rims the meadow. Four massive horses come sauntering over and peer over the fence as I pass. They could crush me with one kick of those hooves.

“Shoo,” I say, but they follow me all along the fence. Isi seems to know where I’m going. She turns off along a path into the trees, and I follow her.

I’m a few metres in and I realise that this is the forest I have dreamed about for so many years.

The forest in my great-aunt’s painting.

The big rock that looks like an old man lying down, the grove of milkwood trees, twining together over the path – they’re all familiar.

It’s impossible.

I’m hallucinating, I decide. It’s the heat, and too much fresh air, maybe something in the pollen that’s drifting down in the sunbeams.

I follow the path, and come into a small clearing. A round pond stands in the middle, surrounded by ferns. Deep orange clivias nestle in the shade of the milkwood trees. Frogs croak between the water lilies, and dragonflies flit over the water. I know all these plants from the gardening books we had in the growing nursery. Mrs Pascoe, who mentored the gardeners, taught us all their names, but to see them here for real is overwhelming. Each is so perfect, so different.

The shadows of the trees have formed a pattern like an old map across the bottom of the pond. It seems the whole world is nestled inside the cobalt-blue depths.

It feels holy – like something gentle and nurturing lives here. Like I imagine my mother would have been, if only I remembered her.

I sit on the edge of the wall. Did she like to sit here? I wish she’d left a sign for me. I lean over to splash water on my hot face and my charm dangles in the water. A shaft of sunlight hits it, and refracts a thousand colours across the pond. It’s so beautiful – the shining colours, flickering against the honey-coloured stone.

There’s silence – no wind, no frogs or birds, no rustling in the grass. The world has stopped.

I wait, holding my breath. Something is happening.

The bees come. They swarm out of the milkwood and form a spiral over my head. I’m not afraid. They swirl around me, until their buzzing sounds like a thousand people humming a welcome song. Then they break out of the spiral, circle the pond, dipping across the centre, and they’re gone, back to the hives in the milkwood.

The wind picks up again, and a frog swims across the pond. A dove begins to coo. I take the charm to tuck it back beneath my robe and it’s warm. Warm, and shining.

THERE’S A LITTLE boy playing on the swing outside the back door when I get back up to the house. He’s wearing long trousers and a white shirt, and he ignores me when I say hello.

A woman is busy in the kitchen, patting bread dough into pans. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a bun and she’s wearing a long russet dress that’s fitted in the bodice. She has a birthmark like mine on her left hand.

“Aunty Figgy?” I say tentatively, pausing in the doorway. She looks up and smiles, but she doesn’t say anything.

An older woman comes out of the pantry. She’s short and strong, and her dark face is wrinkled. She’s dressed like Leonid, in a coarse grey tunic and pants. She stops when she sees me and her face lights up.

“Ebba! My Ebba.”

I turn to the other woman, but she’s gone. The bread is still in the pans, but she’s vanished.

Before I can ask any more the older woman has gathered me into her arms. “Ebba,” she says. She’s almost crying. “We thought you were gone forever.” She looks up into my face and strokes my hair. “We thought you were lost. But you’ve come back to us, Theia be praised. Come, sit, sit,” she says, pulling out a chair. “I want to look at you. You’re so like your mother.”

“You knew her?”

“Of course. She was tall like you, and you have her green eyes, but her hair was chestnut.”

I peer through the back door. The swing is empty, the child gone too. “Where’s Aunty Figgy?” I ask.

“I’m Aunty Figgy.”

“But the woman in the long dress, and the little boy – they were here a moment ago. She was making bread.”

Aunty Figgy stares. Her eyes go to the charm, and then down to the birthmark on my hand. “That mark,” she says. “How long have you had it?”

I pull my hand away and hide it under my leg. “Since I was thirteen. The woman – she also had it.”

She’s staring like I’m a ghost, her black eyes wide.

Maybe she’s a bit crazy. I change the subject. “Is it true that there’s no one left of my family, not anywhere in the whole federation?”

She takes a deep breath and nods. “It’s true. I’m so sorry. There are no Den Eedens left. Your great-aunt was your last relative. When your mother died …”

“How did she die?”

She rubs her grey hair back from her forehead. Her eyes glisten. “Ali – your mother – was a member of the resistance. She was helping refugees to hide here on Greenhaven Farm. When you were two weeks old, just days before the Calamity, there was a disturbance outside the gates of the farm. She insisted on going to see if she could help, and she was shot. By the time we got to her, she was dead, and you had disappeared. We searched everywhere, but then the lockdown was imposed, and we had to just pray to the Goddess that someone somewhere was keeping you safe. And she protected you and brought you back to us. Praise be.”

What is she talking about? The Calamity? Does she mean the Purification? And I thought there was only one God: Prospiroh. “What Goddess?”

“The Goddess who made the world, who kept everything in perfect balance until Prospiroh invaded.” She spits out the name Prospiroh.

She grips my hand, looking at me, her face earnest. “Ebba, I don’t know if I’ll see you again. If Mr Frye fires us this afternoon, I’ll have to leave the settlement, and I won’t be allowed back in. But there’s something you need to know – something about your heritage.”

“My heritage? You mean my family?”

“Yes. The Den Eeden family, and your task.”

“I have a task?” At last someone’s going to tell me what my job is.

She gets up. “Wait here.”

She comes back a moment later with a very old book. It’s bound in leather, and the pages are thick and coming loose from the binding. She opens the heavy cover and begins to turn the pages, looking for something. The writing is broken up with drawings of plants and diagrams.

“Here,” she says finally, pushing the book towards me. “See this section?”

She points to a paragraph of writing. Below it is the outline of a familiar-looking tree. I can’t make out the words, so I scrutinise the picture.

Where do I know that shape from?

“Read it aloud,” she says, tapping the page.

“I … I can’t read.”

“Can’t read?” she exclaims.

“Only some of us were taught to read in the colony. I was a gardener, so I didn’t need it.”

“Hmmmmph.” She pulls the book back in front of her and finds the place with her stubby finger. “I’ll read it to you.”

She begins to read. “In the sixteenth year after the first Calamity, a young woman will arise from the earth. She will bear the mark of the Goddess upon her left hand. To her will fall the task of reuniting the sacred amulets before the year is out. She must open the Gateway to Celestia so the Goddess can return to heal the earth.”

The mark of the Goddess? The Gateway to Celestia? Bring the Goddess back?

Aunty Figgy closes the book and leans back in her chair. Her eyes shut and for a moment she sits entirely still. She takes my left hand, running her thumb over the birthmark.

“Do you see this, Ebba? It is the mark of the Goddess.”

“That’s just a bit of pigmentation. That’s what Ma Goodson told me.”

“It is a holy mark. It is in the Book.”

She turns the book towards me, and with a shock I realise that my birthmark isn’t some random shape. It’s a tree with a trunk and crown, and it’s identical to the one drawn in the pages of this book. I compare them carefully. They’re exactly the same.

“Only four other women have had this mark on their hand,” she says. “One of them was Clementine, the woman you saw in the kitchen just now.”

“Was?”

She nods, and her black eyes twinkle. “She’s your ancestor. She’s manifesting now to help you achieve the sacred task.”

This is ridiculous. “You mean a ghost?” I ask.

“Your Den Eeden ancestor. You are both descendants of the Goddess.” She gestures towards the statue on the window sill. It’s a tall woman dressed in green, with ivy leaves in her long auburn hair and curling around her feet. “That’s the Goddess there – Theia. She made the world.”

I wonder if she’s playing a trick on me, like Micah used to do when we were small. But Aunty Figgy seems desperately serious. She grips my hand tighter. “Ebba, you have a sacred task. You are the young woman written about in the Holy Book. You are the only person who can save the earth from the second Calamity.”

I stare, wondering if she’s mad. Me? A descendant of a goddess? And I have to save the planet? “How am I supposed to do that?”

“You need to find the three missing amulets,” she says, running her ridged nail along the page. “When you have them all, you must join them on the chain so the necklace is restored. The Gateway to Celestia will open, and you will fetch her, bringing her back to the Earth to heal it.”

I see for the first time that the statue is wearing a necklace with four silver discs. I crouch down and examine it. One of the discs looks like my necklace’s charm. That’s weird.

“And if I don’t find them all? If I don’t reunite them and get the gateway to open, what will happen?”

“If you don’t find the three lost amulets, the earth will be destroyed. You, me, Greenhaven, all that remains of the planet will return to dust.”

And I’m expected to do all of this alone? “Um,” I say, standing up, “where do I find these amulets exactly?”

She shrugs. “They’ve gone missing over the past four hundred years. When your ancestors came to Greenhaven, the necklace was whole.”

“So how am I supposed to find them?”

“Your ancestors will help you.”

Back to the mark of the Goddess story. And to the weird dead people who want to help me. I still don’t really believe that the lady in the russet dress was a ghost. “Okay,” I say, getting up. “I’ll think about it.”

She sighs as she closes the book. “Don’t think too long. By midwinter the sixteenth year will be over.”