The Deep (5 page)

I’m on duty from ten at night until five in
the morning. Every now and then, my colleagues and I also venture
out to the far ends of the harbor, but everything is quiet near the
light houses. Phileas has stationed his own people there to stop
the progressives from destroying them. It’s the only advantage of
the whole madness – Phileas is taking away some of our workload
that way.

Ben is part of the night team. He works
without ever taking a break and doesn’t seem to socialize a lot
with his coworkers. Again, I wonder what he’s trying to hide from
by slaving away like that.

One hot summer evening, I see him sitting all
by himself, his legs dangling over the edge of the docks. He rubs
his arm and looks unhappy, so I decide to stroll over and have a
chat. So far, he’s been fending me off whenever I wanted to talk,
always claiming he was too busy. That excuse isn’t going to work
this time, though.

“Hey, Ben,” I greet him as cheerful as I can.
“You okay?”

He glances sideways with a frown.
“So-so.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Yeah. I think I might have pulled a
muscle.”

“Well, no surprise there. I’ve never seen a
person doing as many hammer strokes per minute as you.”

He lets out an involuntary laugh. “I guess
you’re right,” he admits clumsily. “I work really hard.”

“So? Is the supervisor pleased with your
work?”

“Yes. He’s given me a raise.” He grins
awkwardly. “So I can pay you back soon.”

I pause to think over my next question for a
bit. “Are you coming to the town square for the Feast of the First
Harvest tomorrow afternoon?” I ask. It’s the seasonal holiday we
celebrate in the middle of summer when the first harvest is in. “We
could go together.”

“I don’t know that holiday.”

“All the more reason to go. You wanted to
start a new life here, right? It doesn’t get newer than that.”

Ben scratches his chin, then nods. “Fine.
What time does it start?”

“Four o’clock. That’s when you get out of
bed, I suppose.”

He chuckles. “You suppose correctly. Where
shall we meet up?”

“I’ll pick you up.” I scramble to my feet to
get back to work and wave at Ben one more time before starting my
round along the south quay.

The next day, I pass the central square on my
way to Ben’s house. To my surprise, people are putting up a
gigantic grandstand looking out over the square. I see women
milling about carrying long garlands of flowers and banners
depicting ears of corn. They use them to decorate the stage.

“Are we expecting more spectators than
usual?” I ask Yorrick’s dad, who is busy giving commands to the
carpenters. “We didn’t have this last year, did we?”

“I sent an invitation to the Eldest to
celebrate the holiday with us. I told him he could take as many
people from Newexter as he wanted. One of our traders came back
last night and told me that about a hundred easterners will be
attending. And of course, I want to show our town in its best
light.”

“You should make sure that the Phileans don’t
show up here to stir things up,” I remark sourly. “A scuffle like
that would probably ruin our reputation.”

“I don’t think they’ll do that,” the
Bookkeeper replies. “They want to honor the seasonal holidays so we
can count the days until Annabelle arrives. But I told Daryl to
send over a few extra men to keep an eye on the square anyway.”

Deep in thought, I continue down the main
street toward the harbor. The turmoil in our city has taken hold of
me, buzzing through the blood in my veins. Every morning after my
shift ends, I walk to the beach and stare out over the sea to see
whether any ships appear on the horizon yet. I used to do this once
every week, as a morning greeting to Annabelle as well as Yorrick,
who was waiting for me on the Island of Souls. I would hold up the
white, delicate shawl Yorrick had once given to me as a birthday
present, to let it flutter and dance in the breeze.

Every time I walk out into the surf now, I
realize I have lost both Annabelle and Yorrick. Or is what the
easterners say true – is there really a life after death because
the force coursing through your body never dies? Don’t we have to
give up our deceased relatives and friends, even if there is no
island filled with souls beyond the horizon?

Ben is waiting for me in front of his tiny
cottage. “Hi, Alisa,” he says with a smile. “Thanks for inviting me
along. I’m sorry I was less than enthusiastic yesterday.”

“Well, you can make it up to me by being your
most sociable self today,” I tell him teasingly. “I want to
introduce you to my friend Anna, and to Samuel.”

“Is Samuel your husband?” Ben asks
curiously.

“Uhm, no.” I shoot him a puzzled look. I’m
not that old, but Ben seems to think I have the right age to be
married already. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Well – people on our side
of the Wall usually choose a partner when they’re sixteen,
seventeen. You’re twenty, right?”

Ah, yes. That’s true. Newexter sent away
their children at the age of ten. “Hey, so does that mean you have
a secret wife somewhere, Benny Boy?” I snicker.

His face clouds over. “No.”

“You hadn’t made your choice yet?”

This question makes him shut up
completely.

“Sorry,” I say uncomfortably, when the
silence threatens to suffocate me. “Come on, let’s just go to the
square, okay?”

“Fine.” He still seems in a grump as we make
our way to the center, his face only brightening when we get to the
main road. It’s bustling with musicians playing upbeat music and
vendors selling food and drinks from market stalls. Some children
dressed in white and yellow dance excitedly around a flute player
piping out a stirring melody.

By the time we get to the square, the place
is packed. The Bookkeeper is about to do a speech to thank Mother
Nature for the gifts of summer she bestowed on us. Since we no
longer have priests to speak about Annabelle’s arrival, the
official part is considerably shorter. I happen to know Nathan
originally wanted to thank the Goddess for sending us a ship from
Cornwall, but his counselors advised against it. The Phileans have
many supporters, and the Bookkeeper doesn’t want to start out by
rubbing half of the people on the square the wrong way.

It doesn’t take long for the procession of
farmers with carts full of grain to make their appearance. With
proud faces, they carry the bags onto the stage. The contents will
be distributed among the Hope Harborers, who will each get a small
pouch of the very first harvest. It is custom to mill the grain and
use the flour to bake bread for your neighbors. They, in turn, bake
something for you.

“You have to use the grain in your pouch to
make food for someone else,” I explain to Ben. “You then give it to
your neighbors.”

“Good to know,” Ben says. “I’m just not the
best baker in town. I’m more of a meat-and-game man.”

“I can help you,” I offer.

And then, Ben stops breathing, his eyes
widening as he looks at the grandstand next to the stage. “Is that
– the Eldest?” he asks hoarsely. “Who is with him?”

“Some people from your former village,” I
reply. Only now does it occur to me that I could have warned him.
He didn’t run away to Hope Harbor for fun.

“Oh.” His eyes scan the crowd. He looks pale
and anxious.

“Come on, let’s go over to the stage.” I pull
him along. “We’ll just take our grain and get out of here to relax
in a quieter part of town, okay?”

As we get closer to the farmers’ carts, I can
hear the Newexter crowd in the grandstand getting rowdy.
Apparently, they’ve noticed Ben and are now shooting him vile
looks.

“What are you doing here?” a girl with
bright, green eyes snaps at him. “Are you even allowed to come to
parties?”

Ben doesn’t respond. Instead, he stares
intently at his toes.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Her voice rises.
“Piss off, you bastard. How dare you show your face here?”

“Coward,” another girl chimes in.

“Asshole,” the first girl reprises her
tirade.

“Murderer,” a dark-haired guy yells at
him.

I glare at the swearing youngsters. “Can you
keep it down?” I shout. My voice is steady, although the
easterners’ harsh words did shock me. “You’re guests in our town.
We don’t want any trouble. Or bullies.”

That seems to deter them. “I’m sorry, miss,”
the green-eyed girl says. “It’s okay. He’s gone anyway.”

When I turn around, I discover Ben has indeed
fled the scene.

“Go away.”

Ben’s voice sounds muffled through the
cottage door.

I knock once more. I won’t be rebuffed that
easily. “Ben, come out. I want to talk to you.”

“Why?” A sudden sob strangles his voice.

With an impatient sigh, I push the door open.
The fishermen’s cottages in this row don’t have locks on their
doors, so I could have just walked in, but I wanted to give Ben the
chance to open the door for me. “Because,” I reply with a
frown.

He’s sitting at the table, a glass of gin in
front of him. My hand resolutely pushes the drink away as I sit
down. “Spill,” I say.

“What’s there to say?” Ben looks at me both
angrily and sadly. “You heard them, didn’t you? Everybody hates me.
I’m a jackass and a murderer.”

I stare at him expectantly. “I want to hear
your side of the story.”

Ben stares back, his face tight when I take
his hand in mine and squeeze it comfortingly. Suddenly, tears are
rolling down his cheeks. With a strangled cry, he pulls his hand
free and hides his face in his hands, crying soundlessly. His
shoulders shake with sobs and his entire body seems to collapse in
on itself. It’s as if he explodes into a thousand sad little
pieces. I have never seen such sadness. I’ve only felt it myself,
after Yorrick died.

“I’m Saul’s brother,” he finally whispers.
“The leader of the manor house.”

I inhale sharply. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He barks out a bitter laugh.
“Oh.”

Again, silence pervades the room. It hangs
thickly in the air while I stare at him, lost for words. Quite
frankly, this shouldn’t be such a shocker. I already knew Ben had
done terrible things – terrible enough to make him an outcast
criminal in his own village, swapped out for Bram and Finn who went
to live in Newexter. But I relegated that knowledge to the deep
recesses of my mind because I’d wanted to give him a chance to
start all over. The villagers from the east haven’t forgotten who
Ben once was, though.

“What did your life there look like?” I
inquire at last.

Ben closes his eyes and starts talking in a
soft voice. “Saul had absolute power, and it made me feel safe.
Nobody could touch me as long as he was there. And I had strong
friends, all of them older than me.” He clenches his fists. “I
looked up to my brother. I didn’t dare question his decision when
he said Henry should die. And when Saul’s friends stabbed him, I
forced myself not to look away, even though I wanted to. I should
have said something – I knew everything was about to blow up in our
faces. But the only one who spoke out was Leia.”

“Couldn’t you have backed her up?”

Ben laughs derisively. “Leia hated my guts.
And rightly so – I’d convinced Saul that Mara, her best friend,
should be married off to me. That night, after the execution, I
would have dragged Mara to my bedroom. I’m a coward, a rapist and a
murderer. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

I nod gingerly. “I wanted the truth,” I
whisper.

“Well, now that you know the truth, I think
you’d better leave.”

I rub my face tiredly. “Ben. You wanted to
start anew, didn’t you?”

He looks away. “I can’t do it. Not yet. Maybe
never.”

“But you’re here,” I argue. “You could have
stayed behind, just like Saul.”

“No,” Ben mutters despondently. “I want to
know who I am myself. Without him, and without that false sense of
security. Without all those people who despise me.”

“Then stop despising yourself,” I say calmly.
“Once you’re done doing that, you know where to find me.”

“You mean you still want to see me?” he asks
in a soft, incredulous voice.

I bite my lip. “I need some time too, I
guess.”

“Yes.” Ben slowly nods. “Yeah, I get
that.”

“Good.” I get up abruptly. “I should be going
back to the feast.”

I’ve already crossed the threshold when Ben
calls after me: “Alisa?”

“Yes?” I turn around.

“Thanks. For everything.”

In the middle of the night,
I am roused from sleep by agitated voices in the street, combined
with the asphyxiating smell of fire drifting in through my bedroom
window. I sit up with a start. Is our house burning?

“Lisa, wake up,” my
father’s voice booms through the door. He’s banging his fist on the
wood to stir me from sleep. “There’s a fire down at the harbor.
Daryl needs you.”

Oh, no. “I’m coming,” I
call back, quickly throwing on some clothes.

Within a few minutes I’m
down at the harbor, standing on the main quay where a large crowd
of people has gathered. My mouth falls open in horror when I see
what they have come to gawk at. The ship that the builders have
worked so hard on – that Ben slaved away for – is being devoured by
hungry flames that seem to maliciously mock our ambitions in a
dance of death. The wood of the ship’s hull is turning into a
terrible, black mass.

“How could this have
happened?” the Bookkeeper cries out in desperation, pointing a
finger at the burning ship. He paces up and down with angry
strides, scanning the spectators. “Who has done this?”

No one answers, but we all
know who’s responsible for this – Phileas and his religious
zealots. They don’t believe we should leave the island, so
nobody
is allowed
to leave. For days on end, they’ve organized protest marches near
the harbor, claiming we should stop building new sailing ships like
the
Explorer
, and finally someone has plucked up the courage to take this
bold step and set fire to the thorn in their side. Maybe Phileas
even did it himself.