About the Author
Helen Brain was born in Australia in 1960 and raised in Durban, South Africa. After school, she studied music at the University of Cape Town. Before settling to a life writing and teaching writing online, she was a freelance journalist and editor, a screenprinter and crafter, and taught English, music, and Ancient Greek. A mother to three sons and grandmother to one grandson, Brain lives in Muizenberg, South Africa with her husband.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One It’s been two weeks. Two weeks without Micah, and I have no idea if he’s dead or alive. I miss him. His lithe body, his hair so black that it glints blue when the sun shines on it. His eyes like quicksilver, always moving, searching, analyzing, planning. Greenhaven doesn’t feel right without him. Especially now that we’re trying to repair the damage caused by the earthquake. Shorty rounds the corner, bringing another wheelbarrow of mud. He is as different to Micah as anyone could be. As round as Micah is slim, as grubby and disheveled as Micah is neat. As transparent as Micah is guarded. “Here you go,” he says, tipping the mud onto the old tarpaulin piled with straw and animal dung. Jasmine is up to her knees in the mixture, treading and churning it with her feet. It squelches between her toes and she laughs. She looks fiercer with her long hair gone―more determined. She’s always been feisty, but since she came out of the bunker and met Leonid she’s showing a toughness and focus I never expected. Just like Micah, all she thinks about is the Resistance, about overthrowing the government. Leonid, perched on the thatch roof, is slathering the mixture onto the gable that stands above the front door. He empties the bucket onto the wall, crawls crablike across the thatch, and ties it to the rope that Fez has rigged up. He lowers the bucket, his forehead in its customary frown, his sturdy body keeping balance effortlessly as the bucket spins around and then clanks onto the stoep. Isi, my Africanus dog, opens one eye, checks that I’m alright, stretches so the sun can warm her belly, and goes back to sleep. I wish I could relax like her but the question torments me: Why hasn’t Micah come home? Did the soldiers shoot him when he led them away from us? Did he fall down the mountain? Maybe he’s lying there still, wounded, with no one to help him. Or he’s been caught―and he’s back in prison, being beaten by General de Groot, tortured, for leading the Resistance. For being everything the High Priest and General hates. “He’ll come back, Miss Ebba,” Shorty says, hearing me sigh. “Didn’t you say he survived being thrown out of the Colony? He’s a tough one, that one; wily as a jackal. You don’t have to worry about him. He always makes a plan. Always ends up crowing like a rooster on top of the dung heap.” I hope he’s right. I thought I’d lost him back then when he disappeared from the Colony. I grieved for years. And then he turned up at Greenhaven, and we were no longer children. We weren’t locked in a bunker deep in Table Mountain being supervised by guards 24/7. Our love could grow and blossom. Oh, please, please, Micah, please come home. Then Isi’s head shoots up. She runs to the edge of the stoep, barking―the sharp bark that means danger. “What is it?” I call to Leonid. “Can you see anything?” Shielding his eyes from the sun, Leonid peers out over the roofs of Greenhaven. He can see across the orchard and the vineyards to the gates of the farm. “It’s an army carriage,” he yells. “Quick, Letti,” Shorty shouts through the front door. “This way. Fez, come on.” The twins hurtle out of the house. They’ve rehearsed this for days. After Victor told the High Priest they were hidden in the house, Shorty set up a hiding place in the forest, deep in a thicket where the soldiers will never find them. They dash across the meadow and disappear between the trees before the carriage turns the corner. Cold sweat pools on my forehead. This is it. I’ve waited for the army to come since the day of the earthquake. Since the most important man in Table Island, in the whole world, was stung to death by my bees, on my farm. I throw off the blanket and stand up. My knees shake. Jasmine is by my side. She reaches up and adjusts the sling holding my broken collar bone in place. “Don’t let them see you’re scared,” she says. “Put your chin up. Act invincible.” My eyes dart from the carriage thundering down the drive to the outbuildings. It’s not too late to hide. In the barn, in the poultry coop―there are a hundred places where I can conceal myself until he’s gone. But they’ll find me eventually. The general has a whole army he can send to tear the place apart. They mustn’t find Fez and Letti. I have to protect them. I have to face whatever punishment they have planned for me. Isi snarls as the carriage approaches, teeth bared, then ruff of white fur standing up on her back. “Isi, come here.” She runs up the stairs and positions herself between me and the carriage that has come to a halt. Jasmine presses her arm against mine. “It’s Atherton,” she mutters as the carriage door opens and we glimpse the tall pale man seated inside. “Better than Zungu.” I have no doubt that he has come to fetch me on Major Zungu’s orders. I’m going to have to pay for the death of the High Priest. And the person who will decide my punishment is the most feared man in Table Island City: Gen
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