The Last Seed Keeper E-Book

Paul Russell

• Herausgeber: Exisle Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Last Seed Keeper
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 231

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The first instalment in a gripping new trilogy, The Last Seed Keeper is an empowering read about corruption, environmentalism, and what we would do if nature gave us a second chance. 

Ivy is a Groundling, bound to roam the surface of the Earth, eking a living from the rubble of the past. Skyler lives above the clouds in a haven of technology, wanting for nothing yet knowing there must be something more. Their paths are fixed, in a barren world that has forgotten nature… until Ivy makes a discovery that changes everything.  

Suddenly, a forgotten orphan from the Piles holds the key to building a new world. But change is never popular with those in power, and as word gets out, society begins to fracture. Both girls’ lives unravel as Skyler uncovers the secrets that have been kept from her, and Ivy finds out just how important she is to the new world. 

The Last Seed Keeper is a tense, heart-pounding adventure about friendship, secrecy, breaking down barriers, questioning everything, and holding onto hope in the darkest of places. 

Leseprobe

Paul is a national award-winning picture book author, International presenter and teacher with more than twenty years’ experience. He is passionate about empowering children through literature, imagination and the written word. Paul’s characters promote inclusion and the importance of individuality and finding your own place in the world. He is also a playwright, dyslexic, lover of chocolate and fine food, father, and owner of an ill-disciplined, poorly trained but lovable dachshund named Enzo.

‘The Last Seed Keeper is a riveting adventure delvinginto themes of class and environmental stewardship.Packed with tense action and mystery, this pageturning tale is also filled with friendship and heart.Rich world-building brings to life a fantastic sciencefiction universe with captivating echoes of our own.Young readers are sure to latch onto our two youngheroines Ivy and Skyler, as they are urged to thinkabout their impact on the world around us.’

Soman Chainani, author ofThe School for Good and Evil

For Adrianna and every librarían who plants the seeds of imagination into fertile minds.

CHAPTER

1

‘Stop looking up. We don’t look up,’ Hutch mumbled at Ivy through his thick beard, the silver flecks around his mouth catching the light, as he caught her gazing up through the skylight again.

Why did they even have a skylight if they weren’t supposed to look up? Ivy nodded to the giant next to her and forced her eyes back down to the rusty floor. She couldn’t help it. She knew that she wasn’t supposed to do it, but she always looked up. Normally, she wasn’t foolish enough to get caught doing it, especially by Hutch. Well, mostly anyway. It was probably just the fresh air playing tricks with her concentration.

Hutch was weathered and grumpy. The ring of hair around his mouth had started to whiten, but the rest of him was as black as everyone else. Thick dreads of tar-covered hair poked from his chin like barnacles. Despite his grouchiness, Ivy liked him most of all. Most days he could be found at the station from the middle of the day, and more often than not there was a spare seat next to him. He didn’t talk too much and, unlike the other old Pickers, when he did talk it wasn’t about the Great War or better pickings of days gone by. Ivy liked comfortable silences. She sat there squashed between one of the bags that hung from his hip and the cold wall of the station and felt like she was exactly where she should be.

Station 57A wasn’t the best station for payment and the door seal was one of the old-fashioned mechanical types that whistled most of the time, letting the outside air in, but the old Pickers still came here and so did Ivy. Pickers were superstitious and sentimental. One change in their routine could lead to a catastrophe of unlucky days with no finds and nothing else to blame but themselves. Pickers hated change and everyone knew that the world had changed enough, without helping it along.

Ivy, however, was the only Picker in the place without a beard. She looked around at the cold, metal room, chairs bolted to the floor and groups of men stacked on top of them. Weary and dirty men staring at their own feet or napping, nestled in their matted beards.

‘Number 42.’ The announcement spluttered through the speaker in the corner. Till she was seven, Ivy thought that the Sorters had their own language. It wasn’t until later she realized it was just the distortion through the old speakers that crackled when they spoke. Sorters always worked behind glass, and they only ever communicated using those speakers. Protected by a single clear window from the rest of the world.

‘Bye, Hutch,’ Ivy said chirpily, as she gestured to the number in her hand. Hutch grunted back, now with his eyes closed, his long, deep breaths making the hair on his lip dance. Ivy stood up from her chair and dragged herself over to the thick glass. A tired red speaker in one corner rattled and vibrated to life as she approached. The speaker wheezed to attention but the Sorter behind the counter barely looked up.

‘What have you got this time, Puggle?’

‘It’s Ivy.’

‘Everyone thinks you Pickers are insane for stepping out onto those rubbish piles, but you Puggles are certifiable — deliberately digging into a Pile. It’s senseless, not to mention dangerous. Assumed last week was going to be the last time I ever saw you.’

Ivy just sighed. Same speech every time. She dug into her pack and pulled out a small metal cube. There was a dull green light on one corner that flickered a little when she shook it. There were two distinct sections joined with a smooth, flat rectangle. It fitted neatly into the palm of her hand and had been completely cleaned of dirt and grime. It almost sparkled as she placed it into the Sorter’s box.

‘It’s a bio-lock,’ Ivy gloated smugly, just loud enough for the other Pickers in the room to hear, but none stirred.

‘Two credits,’ the speaker mocked back.

‘But it’s still green. It hasn’t even been set yet. It’s worth twenty at least, more if you find the right buyer.’

The Sorter turned the cube in his hand before he dragged his thumb across the rough edge of his desk. A few small drops of blood appeared as Ivy’s stomach sank. Why did she hand it over and not just hold it up?

The Sorter pushed his thumb against the smooth rectangle in the middle and the green light flashed a few times before turning to red as the cube fell into two separate pieces.

‘Two credits. Anything else?’ He pushed the two pieces back together and tossed them sullenly into a box under the counter.

Two credits wouldn’t be enough. Ivy had been saving the other thing for an emergency and was desperately hoping she wouldn’t need to use it today. She spun her pack around and dug into it and pulled out a larger flat rectangle. It was slightly bigger than her hand, but thinner. She held the item up and pressed it against the glass.

‘Put it in the box,’ crackled the Sorter without even looking. Ivy looked around the room for some support. ‘In the box or on your way.’

Reluctantly, she placed the item in the small box in front of her and the Sorter on the other side of the glass flipped it, so the object was suddenly in front of him.

‘Push the button,’ Ivy said, a smile creeping across her face as the Sorter turned the object in his hand. ‘The round one on the front, push it down.’

Sorters were notoriously bad-tempered; it was part of their job. They could never show emotion or look excited. It would get in the way of making a good deal, and they were all about the deal. Each station would usually only have one Sorter, and Station 57A had this one. Ivy was sure he had a name. She’d asked him countless times, but he’d never told her. In her mind she called him Bubbles, because of the thick glasses pressed to his eyes, but really it was just a silly name to try to make him seem a little less scary.

Bubbles obliged Ivy’s request and pushed the round button, and a small screen on the object lit up with numbers and symbols. The Sorter’s eyes enlarged for a fraction of a second behind his glasses, before he groaned again and pretended he wasn’t interested.

‘Still got battery life. Worth at least thirty,’ Ivy said, standing on her tiptoes to try to appear taller behind the window.

‘I’ll give you ten,’ the Sorter said, trying to show no interest at all, but holding the object very tightly in his hand as he did. Ivy had been in this position enough times to know that if he really wasn’t interested it would already be back on her side of the counter.

‘Nah, give it back. I’ll take it down to 36B. The Sorter down there owes me a favour from a deal I did last month.’

‘But I don’t want to hand it back, Puggle,’ Bubbles said, reaching his other hand over the top to hide the object between both of his hands.

‘Then you’ll have to pay me twenty-five,’ Ivy said, opening her hand for the thing to be returned.

The Sorter just held it tighter. Ivy heard a chair creak behind her and watched as the two bubbles on the Sorter’s face stopped looking at her and gazed upwards. She knew that Hutch was standing right behind her.

‘Twenty!’ the Sorter protested, showing his yellow teeth as he did. He didn’t look back to Ivy as he said it, staring instead above her head. Ivy knew she could probably push him for twenty-five, especially with Hutch standing behind her, but it was already on the other side of the glass and, if push came to shove, the Sorter might just put it in his pocket and give her nothing at all.

‘Deal.’

The object vanished into a drawer below, much more gently than the bio-lock, and slowly the small display screen on the counter flashed with a large red ‘22’. Ivy brought her small grey wristband over and tapped it on the screen. The screen flashed red, but the number remained. Ivy pulled her arm back and hit the wristband with her other hand, then tried tapping it again. The number disappeared from the counter and reappeared on her wrist.

‘Can get you a new one of those for two hundred,’ the Sorter snorted.

Two hundred. What Picker would ever even see two hundred?

Ivy didn’t even smile. She felt something press against her backpack and it shifted slightly on her back, but by the time she turned from the counter Hutch had already returned to his seat, his eyes closed again. She walked over to a large grey machine in the corner of the room. Pulling three bottles from her pack, she saw a small green book that Hutch had dropped in there when he was behind her, thinking she hadn’t noticed. There was a picture of animals on the cover, but they were dressed like people. The title was something about wind blowing through a tree but she had to be careful with such a thing in this place, so she didn’t investigate it any further.

The liquid inside the bottles was coffee coloured and there were various lumps both floating on the surface of the liquid and swirling suspended just off the bottom. She inserted the bottles one at a time in a small opening in the side of the machine and scanned her wristband on the side. The twentytwo that had appeared only moments earlier dropped down to nineteen, and with a heavy wheeze the machine trembled to life. A few seconds passed before Ivy pulled her three bottles out again. The liquid, although still fairly brown, was now almost completely lump free, with silver stickers stamped on the top of the bottles with a perfectly centred and a very familiar yellow logo.

Ivy walked over to a large vending machine in the other corner of the room. The machine was stocked with rows of identical small, silver-coated bricks with the same yellow circle and XyleCorp logo in one corner. Ivy scanned her wrist on the corner and pressed the number four. The machine flashed ‘Not Enough Credit’. She hit the side of the machine with her fist and pressed the number three. ‘Not Enough Credit’ flashed again. This time Ivy kicked the machine and pressed the number two. The metal rings inside the machine spun and two bars dropped down. Ivy looked at her wristband and the number now said three.

She reached down and collected the bars. ‘Eight credits for one Xyle-Bar! Are you serious? They were four credits six months ago and only five last week!’ Ivy yelled. Many of the Pickers in the room nodded and grunted in agreement, but the Sorter behind the counter just waved his hand dismissively and pointed her towards the door.

Ivy lifted her mask from her neck and pulled the straps tight around her face. She unscrewed the two round filters from the front of the mask and knocked them together. A thick pile of black dust dropped from the filters and rained onto the floor. Ivy looked longingly up at the packets of fresh filters hanging in another vending machine before clipping her old filters back into her mask. She wrapped her plaited ponytail over her shoulder and tucked it into her jacket, then pulled her goggles down from her forehead, securing them over her eyes. Her world turned slightly orange.

She reached for the door and yanked down hard on the seal handle. The door shuddered a little but she had to put her shoulder against it to force it open. The rush of poorly filtered air exchanged with the rush of dust coming in, as Ivy stepped back into the real world.

‘Wha’cha get?’ A voice sounded over the whir of the world around Ivy. It took a moment for her eyes and ears to adjust.

Durie was the closest thing Ivy had to a friend her own age. Pickers didn’t often have friends; the life of a Picker was a life of solitude. Picking was all about competition, trying to find the best picks to survive, especially for kids.

The Piles were no place for families and particularly not a place for children. Nobody who cared for their child would ever bring them to such a place and no one would ever think to look for a child here, and so the only children who ever grew up there were orphans. Orphans like Durie and Ivy. They grew up quickly and by their wits, or they didn’t grow up at all. For any who survived, sharing this life on the Piles gave them something in common, and commonality can often resemble friendship.

Durie was a few years older than Ivy and had the deepest blue eyes, which he never hid behind glasses. He had recently started growing his first beard. It was little more than a splattering of blond hairs sprouting from his chin and poking out from the top of his lip, but he was very proud of it.

The beards of the Pickers were as baffling as the rest of them. Not because they were so different or an amazing fashion accessory, but because they were just so impractical. Beards were magnets for filth and grime and when you spent your day surrounded by the rubbish of this world and the worlds of the past, having a beard made no sense. Not to mention that everyone knows that when you wear a mask over a beard, the seal is never as good. Pickers always began by trying to stuff bits of their hairy faces inside their masks, but it never lasted and soon they’d end up with a ‘Picker’s Beard’: a clean circle around their mouth and nose of one colour, and the rest black, matted and poking off their face in tarry lumps. Dreadlocked tentacles climbing down their chests and blending into the blackened barnacles covering the rest of them.

Not too long ago, Durie was a Picker whom every Sorter knew. He was good and ruthless and, although he would never admit it now, he was also a Puggle. Now absolutely everyone knew Durie, but they didn’t know him for his picking, as he didn’t really pick anymore. Instead, he relied on gossip to make his way in the world. He had learned a while ago that good gossip could have a value far greater than anything found in the Piles, but it could also often be just as messy.

He was sitting in the shade of several rusting cars with his mask perched on his forehead and his shoes lying next to him. His wrist was projecting a small screen. It was far too bright and he was clearly illegally surfing Sky Stations again, but he turned it off as soon as he saw Ivy.

‘Fifteen credits,’ Ivy lied.

‘Should’ve gone to 36B. They like me down there. Could’ve gotten you sixteen or seventeen easy.’

‘I like this one better,’ Ivy said, a little guiltily. There was no way she wanted to be in debt to Durie, even if they were friends most of the time.

‘I know, I know. Good old Puggle, so predictable. Have to go to the sorting station with the best view,’ he mocked, lying back, using his boots like they were a pillow and motioning to the thick, brown clouds covering the sky above them.

‘Why can you look up, but everyone tells me not to?’ Ivy snapped as Durie smirked at her.

‘Because, Puggle, I’m looking at the clouds and you’re trying to look beyond them.’ Durie closed his eyes as though he was basking in bright, imaginary sunshine, without a care in the world.

‘Put your mask back on or you’ll get the Spots — and don’t call me Puggle,’ Ivy snapped, her face growing hot. The entire world seemed ready to mock her and tell her what to do.

‘Blah, that’s just a myth. The Spots are nothing to do with not wearing a mask. Masks just hold the pitch nice and close to your face so you can breathe it in all day. Besides, I’ll be moving to the clouds any day now. Everyone knows that no one in the clouds ever gets the Spots, and that’ll be me. If you’re nice to me, you can come up and visit once a week and clean my pod.’

‘Wow, thanks Durie. How many people do you know that live in the clouds anyway? Maybe they have the Spots up there worse than we have them down here. For all you know, they’re all up there coughing and spluttering all day long.’

‘I’ve seen ’em on the streams. White and clean, and one day soon that’ll be me.’

Every Picker thinks that one day soon they’ll be moving up to the clouds. Just one more perfect find and suddenly they’ll have their ticket. It doesn’t matter that no one had ever known a single Picker who’d actually moved to the clouds. No one even knew anyone who had found enough to leave the Piles. There were stories about a friend of a friend who knew this guy who once ... but deep down they all knew it was just something they said to give themselves a little bit of hope. Ivy was one of the youngest in the Piles, but already she knew she would never move off the ground. It still was kind of nice to think about, however; and most Pickers, though they would tell you otherwise, fell asleep each night with their last thought being of a nice cosy home in the sky.

‘Want some Xyle-Bar?’ Ivy asked, digging a silver brick from her bag. She unwrapped it and broke a chunk off the brown bar, tossing it to Durie.

‘Thanks, Ivy. Picking’s been a bit slow this week.’

Ivy watched as he ate the whole thing in one large bite, thanking her with the food rolling around inside his mouth.

‘Sorters getting fussier?’ Ivy asked.

‘Yeah, I guess. Sorters seem to be keeping more and more these days. Sky Folk just not as interested anymore. So, a lot of the Sorters have started trading among themselves. Not as much money in it for them, and so Pickers are paying the price. Also, seems like the bars are just not coming in as much anymore. Loads of stations have none left at all, so those that have just keep jacking up their prices. Soon a single bar will cost you twenty, if you can find any at all.’

‘Where are you staying tonight?’ Ivy asked, still holding the rest of the bar in her hand.

‘Thought I might stay around here for a bit. Air from the back of the shack keeps things pretty warm most nights. Lots of interesting people to talk to and the best view in town.’

‘Stay away from the back air if you’re not wearing a mask,’ said Ivy. ‘If it was any good, they wouldn’t be pumping it out of the shack. What are you doing after lights out?’

‘You know me, Ivy. I’ve always got someone looking out for me. Got me a blanket last week. Snug as a bug I am,’ Durie said tapping his daypack, which was resting under his feet.

‘Yeah, snug as a bug. When was the last time anyone saw a bug? Stay safe, Durie.’ Ivy tossed him another chunk of her bar and adjusted her pack, pulling the straps tight so it hugged into her back.

‘Thanks, Ivy. You too, you too,’ Durie mumbled through mouthfuls of bar.

Ivy looked down at her wrist. Three hours of light left. She started towards the Piles, but just a few steps in she crouched down behind several large heaps of brown scrap to watch Durie. He flicked open his wristband again and she could see a bright white light, but whoever he was talking to or watching was gone. He didn’t seem fazed and instead adjusted his boots to make himself more comfortable.

‘Oi you!’ a voice boomed from a Picker coming out of the station. Ivy’s heart fell into her stomach — she was worried she had been caught spying on Durie — but the voice wasn’t directed at her. She looked across to the station and saw two of them, big and red faced. By the time Ivy’s eyes had scanned back from the angry men to Durie, Durie was already on his bare feet, boots in his hand, running into the Piles in the opposite direction.

‘Who have you been talking to?’ the other man shouted before both Pickers pulled up their masks and raced after Durie.

CHAPTER

2

‘Skyler Blackwell! If you are not out of that bed in the next thirty seconds, so help me I will send you to school beneath the clouds.’

Skyler rolled over and snuggled into her silky pillow. The taste of a wonderful dream was still just lingering within her grasp. She just had to ...

‘Now, Skyler!’

‘I’m up, I’m up,’ Skyler groaned as she stepped out of her bed and placed her bare foot onto the pre-warmed, polished floor.

‘Good morning, Skyler-Jane. The current temperature is twenty-three degrees. What would you like to wear this morning?’

‘I would like to wear a red summer dress with pink socks please, Amity, and maybe a blue singlet underneath it, with my hair in plaits curled up next to my ears with green hair ties with a gold fleck.’

‘No problem, Skyler-Jane, your clothes will be ready shortly.’ A small drawer in the wall hissed as it opened slightly, and a pressed white uniform came out neatly folded. ‘Is there anything else I can assist you with?’

White. White. White. This entire world was white. ‘Why do you get to be blue?’ Skyler hissed at the blue bar that flashed mockingly around the top of the wall as Amity spoke, even though the speakers were next to Skyler’s bed.

‘Can you tell me how many viewers I have?’

‘You currently have six viewers. Two more of your viewers have sadly decided to stop viewing your posts. Would you like to view a post called “Boosting your Viewers in Three Easy Steps?”’

‘No thank you.’ This was the first bit of good news Skyler had heard all week and it painted a smile across her face that couldn’t be removed as she brushed her bed-hair back off her face and pulled on her drab white clothing.

‘Good morning, Mother,’ Skyler said as she came out of her bedroom and bumped into a chair in the living room.

‘Watch where you’re going, Skyler. You walk into that chair every morning.’

Skyler just moaned and rubbed her thigh. She didn’t even know why they had a fourth chair. There was only enough room in the place for three. She was sure there would be another bruise there by lunchtime, but she also knew she should be thankful to live in a Luxury-EI2 Pod, which was luxuriously equipped with an all-important fourth chair and a square dining table, instead of the two-chair round option.

‘Quick! You are running late, and so am I. What do you want for breakfast? Sweet or savoury?’

‘Savoury,’ Skyler said, partly to annoy her mother but also because she was actually used to it now. Everyone else always chose sweet, but Skyler liked being different just as much as her mother seemed to hate her standing out. Without complaining, her mother pumped the white, custardy liquid into a small white bowl and placed it on the table.

‘Had a meeting with Miss Stacey again last week.’

‘That’s nice. I haven’t spoken to her this month,’ Skyler said, unenthusiastically chasing the liquid around her bowl with a spoon.

‘She is concerned about the number of posts you’ve been making.’

Skyler placed a spoonful of white mush into her mouth as the strong savoury flavour wrapped around her tongue.

‘I don’t really think she knows who I am,’ Skyler mocked without looking up at her mother.

‘We’re all concerned about you, Skyler,’ her mother said, sitting down in one of the chairs opposite her and trying to make eye contact.

‘Victoria’s daughter is making up to fifteen posts a day and has increased her viewers to over one hundred thousand in just the past twelve months.’

Skyler smirked. ‘Cloudburst continues to provide the world with the valuable service of how to apply make-up to turn an unattractive face into an equally unattractive but slightly more colourful face, with eyelids that will frighten Groundlings away. But I just feel like that market has already been captured,’ Skyler said, still not looking up at her mother, sensing the disapproving look that would already be on her face.

Her mother sighed, her shoulders slumping like they did most mornings. ‘She is doing her part to add to our society, Skyler, and you are not doing yours. Your teacher says that over the last month you have only contributed thirty posts. That’s only one a day. How do you expect to raise your profile if you’re not even posting? They will close your Scope account if you’re not more active, and then where will you be?’

‘As long as I do one post a day, Scope are not permitted to close my account. It’s in their Terms and Conditions, I checked. And there’s more to this life than just Scoping. Surely if I post less, I’ll have a chance to learn more and do more — that will actually give me something meaningful to post about.’

‘Stop it. Don’t talk like that. If you don’t post and increase your profile, you are not contributing. If you don’t exist on Scope, you won’t exist anywhere and those who don’t exist are no longer welcome. Do you really want to end up like your father, stuck going to the factories every day?’

‘It wouldn’t be so bad,’ Skyler said, looking up and hoping to watch the blood drain from her mother’s face; but as she looked, her mother seemed undrained. She just sighed.