The Thousand Steps

by Helen Brain

  THE THOUSAND STEPS

  BOOK 1

  HELEN BRAIN

  Human & Rousseau

  For Denise Ackermann,

  who knows about the Goddess.

  Someday I’ll see the sky.

  I’ll climb the thousand steps.

  The gates will open and my family will be waiting,

  ready to take me home.

  CHAPTER 1

  Hey, Ebba,” my friend Jasmine whispers. “What do you think will happen tomorrow?”

  I sigh, and bring my mind back to reality. Two hundred sixteen-year-olds packed into a single sleeping cell, in a bunker deep inside Table Mountain.

  “Shh, Jasmine,” Letti hisses from the bunk below me. “Don’t think about it.”

  Her twin, Fezile, coughs. “I wish I could have seen the outside world,” he says when he has his breath back. “Even if it was just for a few minutes. But now it’s too late.”

  “You don’t know they’ll pick you, Fez,” I say firmly. “You’re being negative.”

  But I don’t believe what I’m saying. And I’ve got a bad feeling.

  “Let’s talk about something else. What do you think it was like in the old days?” Letti asks.

  “It must have been like heaven,” I say. “Trees and flowers and clouds and rain …”

  “And books and schools and universities,” Fez says dreamily. “I’d love to spend all day reading.” Another cough rattles his chest.

  “People were free there,” Letti says. “You could go where you wanted, do what you felt like doing … Imagine that. No soldiers watching everything you do. And you could fall in love and marry anyone you liked.”

  “You’re forgetting,” Jasmine says, turning over so the bed frame rattles, “the outside world was destroyed. It’s all ash and deadness and rock. And tomorrow …”

  “Shh,” Letti says firmly. “We’re not talking about tomorrow.”

  She’s right. Best not to think about it. Tomorrow is the day of the sacrifice.

  I’VE STILL GOT that bad feeling when I wake up the next morning. It’s early, and everyone is asleep. I slip out of the bunk and walk across to my locker, feeling my way in the dark. Kneeling on the stone floor, I dig in the back of the bottom shelf for my memory box. I pull it out and open it. There they are. The only things I had when they found me – a newborn baby nobody knew anything about. Ma Goodson, my cell mother, gave me the box so I would be like everyone else.

  She’s told me the story so many times. Sixteen years ago, weeks before the Great Purification when Prospiroh unleashed his wrath on the sinful world and destroyed everyone except the chosen people at the foot of Africa, the Shrine Council selected two thousand small children from the most gifted parents, to be kept safe in the bunker excavated inside Table Mountain. The two thousand were going to be the holy remnant that would one day repopulate the world.

  And I wasn’t one of them.

  But two days before the Great Purification, one of the soldiers found me in the bunker storage chamber, lying on a sack of protein pellets, wrapped in a pink blanket. There was nothing with me but an adult’s necklace, hung double around my tiny neck, and a note pinned to the blanket to say my name was Ebba. No one knew how I got there.

  Everything was in lockdown already. The sea had risen so high there was no more Cape Peninsula – just an island separated from the mainland. And soon that island would be cut in three by the flood.

  There was nowhere to take me. No one was going to open the bunker again, not when the superpowers were about to use their nuclear weapons on each other. So they put me in a sabenzi group with Jasmine, Letti and Fez and I became child number 2001 in the colony.

  I pull out the blanket and feel for the charm that hangs on the necklace, running my fingers across its surface. I’ve wondered so often what it means – the silver circle with a polished brown stone balanced inside it. There are four clasps on the chain, but only one has a charm hanging from it. Where are the rest? Does my family have them?

  Everyone else has letters from their families, and photographs and keepsakes. Ma Goodson reads the letters aloud on birthdays, but most people know theirs off by heart. Letti has her mom’s wedding ring, and Fez has a pocket watch that belonged to their great-great-grandfather. But who did my necklace belong to?

  We’re not allowed to wear jewellery, so I fold it into the blanket and push it back into my locker.

  The rising siren goes then, the lights come on and everyone is up, rushing to the bathroom before the water runs out.

  We have to make sure we all survive the sacrifice. Jasmine is really anxious. In the worst scenario the High Priest could choose me, Letti and Fez, and then she’ll be alone with no sabenzis, no family.

  But because she’s Jasmine, she’s being practical.

  I’m brushing my hair when she comes over.

  “Here,” she says, “let me help you.”

  She pulls my hair back in a tight plait, spreading some oil on it to flatten my curls so that it sits sleekly against my head. Then she folds the plait into a bun, pins it securely, and puts on my cap, pulling it down to cover every bit of hair.

  “I’m scared, Jas,” I whisper. “I’m scared for me, and for Letti and Fez too.”

  “I know,” she says, standing on tiptoe to give me a hug. “Bend your knees so you look shorter, and keep your hand hidden, and they won’t notice you.”

  Fez and Letti are just back from the bathroom.

  “I’ve made this for you, Fez,” I say, taking a tiny bottle of green liquid out of my locker. “It’s peppermint infusion. I hope it will stop you coughing during the selection.”

  Fez’s complexion is grey with fear. But he gives me a wry smile and slips it in his pocket.

  “Drink it just as we go into the meeting hall,” I say.

  Jasmine grabs him by the shoulders. “Sorry, Fez. This is going to hurt, but we’ve got to get some colour into your face.” She slaps him twice on each cheek.

  He doesn’t say anything. His twin sister Letti peers at Jasmine, squeezing her eyes half shut as she tries to make out Jasmine’s expression.

  “Letti,” Jasmine says, “don’t do that in front of the general or the High Priest. Don’t let them know you can’t see properly.”

  Of all of us, Letti is the most at risk. I’m terrified that I’ll never see her again after this morning. But she’s being brave.

  “I won’t, Jasmine,” she promises. I see her swallow nervously and give her a hug.

  Then the siren goes again, and it’s time to go into the meeting hall. Time for the sacrifice to begin.

  THE MOOD IN the hall is sombre. Nobody’s saying anything because the place is crawling with soldiers brought down from the barracks on level 2. I scan the hall, looking for the best place to be invisible. The meeting hall is round, with benches arranged in circles around the central altar. We need to find a place at the back, where the rows are longer, where we can hide in the crowd. But everyone’s had the same idea and we’re forced into a row about a third of the way down.

  We push Fez right to the middle of the row. He’s short, so hopefully they’ll miss him. His face is still glowing from the slaps, and he looks a bit healthier than usual. For now.

  Letti is next to him. She’s been rubbing her eyes, and I nudge her and signal that she must stop. Then it’s me, taller than all the other girls in the colony, and lastly Jasmine, feisty Jas, who only comes up to my shoulder, but who makes up for her tiny stature with her don’t-mess-with-me attitude.

  Soon the hall is full, all five hundred sabenzi groups, plus two hundred teachers, mentors and cell parents, all waiting in silence for the High Priest and General de Groot to descend from the upper galleries of the bunker. Finally, footsteps r
ing in the corridor outside. Nobody turns around. We keep our heads forward, eyes down, trying to be invisible, as the soldiers open the doors and the general, the High Priest and a team of worship leaders march up the aisle. I feel Letti shivering, and I slip my hand into hers.

  “Praise Prospiroh,” the High Priest calls when he reaches the altar.

  “Praise Prospiroh,” we respond dutifully, and kneel down on the stone floor.

  The High Priest walks slowly around the altar with his hands in the air, followed by the six worship leaders. His eyes are dark and large, his jaw and shoulders square, his hands expressive. He lights the big brass thurible and the worship leaders pull on the chain that raises it to the roof. Fragrant smoke pours out as they swing it across the expanse of the meeting hall. I begin to feel woozy.

  “We are gathered here for the sacrifice,” the High Priest says. “Prospiroh, the source of our abundance, desires that we be purged of the weak. He blesses us with strength and prosperity, but those who do not please him do not thrive. Theirs are the weaknesses, the diseases. Their depravity infects each one of us. Prospiroh desires that only the best, the strongest, the most powerful abide in his colony, preparing for the day when it is once again safe to return above. All stand.”

  Am I one of the weak? Am I freakish? I look different from everyone in the colony with my red hair, green eyes and pale skin. People whisper that I have witch’s hair. And then there’s my birthmark … I stand up, pull my cap lower down over my forehead, and keep my hand hidden.

  General de Groot salutes the High Priest, then swaggers down the aisles, inspecting us one by one. He’s a short, stocky man with a jutting chin and blue eyes that cut through the rows, zooming in on anyone who shows any sign of weakness. Behind him walks the High Priest, scanning us for imperfections.

  I’m quaking. Don’t cough, Fez, I think. Just don’t cough.

  The general calls Shameema in Year Three – she broke her elbow falling off her bunk and it’s bandaged up. He pulls out Jaco, the guy who lost an eye when Major Zungu hit him for backchatting. He picks three Year Fives who are sneezing and coughing.

  One to go. We’re almost safe. He’s walking away from us. Thank you. Thank you.

  But then he turns and strides down our aisle, straight towards our row. I bend my knees deeper, keep my head bent down. My thighs are burning. I dare not look but I can feel his eyes drilling into me. Sweat beads on my forehead but I can’t wipe it away.

  He’s going to see how pale and thin Fez is. He’s going to pick him.

  He comes closer, closer. My heart is racing. He’s next to Jasmine, looking down our row, but just as I feel I might throw up from fear, he moves on to the row behind.

  “You,” he says to the person behind me. I’m too scared to turn around to see who he has chosen.

  But when I hear her scream I know who it is. It’s Tanaka, the girl from the weaving gallery with the crooked back. I feel her gripping the back of the bench. “No, no, no,” she screeches. “Not me. Don’t take me.”

  We’re frozen. Nobody argues with the general.

  “Fetch her,” he snaps, and I feel one of the soldiers pushing into the row behind me.

  “Not me, not me!” Tanaka screams. “Ebba’s got a birthmark. Take her.”

  I shrink. I feel Letti and Jasmine closing in, packing me tight, gripping my hands. The general is running his eyes up and down me. Assessing my value to him.

  “A birthmark is nothing,” the general snaps. “She’s strong. She can work.”

  The soldier drags Tanaka out of the row. “No!” she screams. “Not me, not me. Take Ebba. She’s got witch’s hair.”

  She grabs my cap. My hands fly up to save it, but it’s too late. The cap comes away, it’s in her hands, and the High Priest swoops down to end of our row, shoving the general aside. His eyes spear me. I don’t move, I can barely breathe. I can feel Letti’s hand shaking in mine.

  He points straight at me. “You! You with the red hair.”

  I look directly at the High Priest for the first time. His eyes are hard and full of contempt. Without dropping his gaze, he jerks his head towards the altar. “Go.”

  I have been chosen.

  Letti and Jasmine are gripping my hands like we’re grafted together. But I’ve got to let go. I’ve got to leave them.

  I want to throw myself at the High Priest’s feet and beg for mercy, but I’ve seen his face. The sneer on his full lips, the hooded eyes burning with disgust. I stumble up the aisle, not daring to look back.

  The worship team steps forward and takes our arms. They lead us into the bathroom, where they strip us and wash us, even though it’s only half an hour since we showered.

  I’m in shock. I sit there dumbly while a woman unplaits my hair and brushes it so it flows down my shoulders in red curls. She paints my eyes with blue powder. “Such a privilege,” she murmurs, as she spreads red on my lips with a thin brush. “Such a privilege to sacrifice yourself for the good of the colony.”

  I’m not sacrificing myself, I think. I have no choice. But there’s no point in protesting. Not when there are twenty soldiers with shotguns outside. So I sit there, letting her do her job. When she’s finished she opens a basket and brings out a white shift and trousers and helps me put them on. Then she takes a wreath of silk leaves, and places it on my head, clipping it into my curls with a bobby pin. I feel like my heart will break.

  We’re all ready now. The six of us, scared and pale, looking like wraiths in the white shifts. And the worship leader says, “It is now time to bid farewell to your sabenzis, praying that Prospiroh will strengthen them, and all of us, by your sacrifice.” He opens the door, and our sabenzi groups troop in, trying to look brave.

  Letti and Fez run into my arms. Letti is crying, and I hold her away from me and wipe her eyes. “No, Letti,” I say firmly. “Don’t cry. If you cry then I’ll cry …”

  Fez tries to say something clever or funny, but he can’t think of anything, so he just stares at me with his big eyes, and his Adam’s apple is going up and down in his throat.

  Jasmine says, “Bend your head forward,” and she slips a chain around my neck. I look down. The charm I was wearing when I was discovered as a baby is hanging between my breasts.

  “Don’t you want to keep it?” I say. “It’s not going to be much use to me now.”

  She shakes her head. “No,” she says, with a crack in her voice. “You arrived with it, you should leave with it.”

  The worship leader announces, “It is time for the procession,” and we line up, each holding a lighted candle. We’re followed by the members of the worship team, who are chanting the Processional for the Long Night. Billows of smoke from the sacred herbs loom up around us, and we’re surrounded by the tinkle of the tiny bells on the team’s ankles and wrists.

  We proceed back to the meeting room where the High Priest stands, chanting in his sonorous voice, which resonates around the room. His hands are elevated as though he’s pointing towards the world above.

  When I’m two steps away from him, his chant falters. He’s staring at the charm. Then his eyes flicker to my red hair, and down to my hand as it clutches the candle. He sees the birthmark on my left hand. A strange look ripples over his face.

  But his voice picks up the chant again, and we move on, down the aisle, lined now by soldiers with guns. We pass the rows … Everyone I know, everyone I love, wrapped in the swirling smoke and noise. Their faces come in and out of focus.

  Ma Goodson reaches out to me as I pass her. She’s trying not to cry. “Be strong,” she says. A soldier lifts his gun and hisses, and she drops back in line. I bite my lip and look down as I reach the row where Jasmine, Letti and Fez stand rigid with misery. I can’t look – it hurts too much. It can’t be forever. It can’t.

  Then the general shouts, “Open up.” The back doors of the meeting room open, and we’re in the passage that leads to the shaft. The shaft that brings us purified air, that is the central core in this huge
termite nest of a bunker. The shaft that is the only access to the world above.

  CHAPTER 2

  Major Zungu is there to meet us. He’s stony-faced and cold, and we’re all terrified of him. He’s in charge of all the soldiers who guard us, and it looks like he’s going to oversee the sacrifice.

  How will they do it? Will it be over quickly? My heart thuds with fear as he gives a signal and six soldiers fall in line next to us. Then they march us down the gloomy tunnel while the members of the worship team dance ahead, their bells jingling as they wave their arms and leap and turn, thanking Prospiroh for giving us the chance to sacrifice ourselves.

  I search the walls and roof for a way to escape, but I know that I’m wasting my time. Like the rest of the bunker, this passage is carved out of solid rock, with armed soldiers guarding the exits. They’re not going to kill us down here, in the colony, or our decomposing bodies will bring diseases. They must be taking us somewhere where they can throw us out. I decide to be cooperative for now. It’s my only chance to survive.

  The High Priest and the general come bustling past, and we press ourselves against the walls and bow our heads. The High Priest gives my necklace a sidelong glance and then they hurry on down to the end of the passage.

  I wonder if they made Micah walk this corridor when they took him away. Micah, the black-haired Year Three who asked a million questions, and wouldn’t do as he was told. I’ll never forget how it felt when he kissed me. They took him the next day, and he never came back.

  Maybe I’ll meet up with him again in Celestia when I die. If there is such a place as Celestia. Somehow all the Prospiroh stuff has always made me feel uncomfortable. Jasmine has often whispered to us that it’s all rubbish, and that there isn’t any God. But the world can’t have just sprung out of nowhere. Prospiroh must have made it.

  I try to pray. I try my best to keep his commandments, but worshipping him makes me feel dirty for some reason that I can’t explain.

  We reach the end at last. The High Priest and General have disappeared into the wooden elevator and three soldiers are pushing on the huge wheel, grunting with effort. We’re not going in the elevator – that’s reserved for the authorities. They take us down a short passage to the left, and we stop at a grey metal door.