Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) (25 page)

“Come at once,” she said, spinning on her heel to disappear through the metal doorway into the gloomy world beyond.

Nausea swilled in Maryam's stomach as the guards pushed her forward and the thick stench of mildew hit her. Mould bloomed from the threadbare woven flooring of the corridor as copiously as shoots in spring. The grimy walls pressed in around her, as if doing their best to wipe the image of the island from her mind, but she clutched onto it, imagining herself clinging by her fingernails to its lofty peaks.

She could feel Lazarus's hand press on her back, unsure if he applied it for her comfort or to speed her on her way. They entered the atrium, the breathtaking centre of the ship. Its lavish silvers and golds set off the glow of the tiled marble floors, and the high domed ceiling refracted back the rainbow of colours and patterns that clothed the walls. It had lost none of its magic. The first time Maryam set foot in the space after she'd Crossed, she'd thought its magnificence was the outward manifestation of the Lord's glorious domain. Now the sight of such extravagance, while Sisters and servers and villagers suffered so cruelly at the Apostles’ hands, seemed to underline the rot that poisoned the Apostles’ hearts.

Mother Michal gave her no time to linger. She led them straight up the sweeping staircase, beyond the theatre where Father Joshua had so publicly abused and humiliated her, and on further to the tattered panelled doors that marked the entrance to his private realm. Mother Michal knocked three times, the sound tolling on like a prophetic warning.

“I won't let them hurt you,” Lazarus whispered from behind her.
“Say nothing and let me take control.” He slipped his hand onto her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, and though Maryam was still fuming at his betrayal she found some comfort in the gesture.

The door creaked open. “The girl is here,” Mother Michal announced, pushing Maryam through the opening so that she lost her balance and tripped, only just managing to stay upright with Lazarus's aid. The strong sweet scent of siale flowers emanated from a spray placed on a small table by the door, overpowering the slight hint of mould and drawing Maryam's gaze up from her clumsy feet.

A panicked survey reassured her that the room was empty, bar furnishings so opulent that for a moment all she could do was stare. Panels of delicately grained wood lined its walls, while thick jungle-green curtains flanked large floor-to-ceiling windows that opened to a balcony designed to offer views of the sea beyond. The flooring was scuffed and thin with age, however, its delicate floral border faded and, near the windows, worn right away. On the wall to her right a large gold-framed mirror hung above a bulky wooden dresser, its top inlaid with glinting strips of abalone shell and mother-of-pearl. The rest of the room was furnished with large upholstered chairs, their covers worn and grubby though still inviting, and beyond an arched opening in the wall Maryam could see a bed so wide three sleeping mats could have been laid side by side on top. It was draped with some kind of animal pelt, the colour and appearance of fluffy clouds, and her fingers itched to run over it to find out if it was as soft and dense as it appeared.

But now she felt a disconcerting prickle track up her spine as she sensed her own observations were being just as thoroughly scrutinised by someone else. She spun around to find Father
Joshua leaning against the wall, studying her from behind the open door. Her heart hiccupped, and she had a sudden griping urge in her bladder. Oh Lord.

“Greetings,” he said, slow and deliberate. “I see you have returned.” He rounded on Mother Michal. “Where is that damned woman?”

“Here!” came Mother Lilith's puffing voice from the hallway. Mother Michal took her leave, and Mother Lilith entered. She closed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock, then slipped the key into the pocket of her stark white skirt. “Sorry I'm late,” she said. “Damage control.” She brushed past Maryam, not acknowledging her at all, and flopped into one of the chairs.

Father Joshua stepped from his corner and gestured toward the unoccupied chairs. “If you'd be so kind…”

His politeness terrified Maryam more than if he'd struck her. There was such coldness and forced restraint in his tone, he seemed to be holding back a rage so dangerous even he was hesitant to let it loose.

She crossed the room, holding her head high and refusing to appear intimidated, although inside she quivered like a newborn chick. Lazarus rushed forward and drew out a chair for her, pulling over another so he could sit right at her side. She sat bolt upright, ignoring the comfort of the cushioned upholstery, and wove her fingers together before resting her hands on her knee. Breathe, she willed herself. In, out, in, out…

“And so…” Father Joshua shot across the room and perched on the arm of Mother Lilith's chair. He stared at Maryam as though his eyes could strip her bare, one corner of his mouth rising in a poorly disguised sneer. “It seems you've had quite an adventure, my dear.”

She didn't answer, not feeding him anything he could use as bait.

Mother Lilith leaned forward and scooped up a small notebook and writing implement from the circular glass table that stood between the chairs. “Tell me, Sister, the ingredients of your so-called cure.”

“Not so-called, Mother,” Lazarus said. “Lesuna is alive thanks to it, and I am too—the natural mixture contains the same basic ingredients as the pills that saved my life.”

“That's for me to judge,” his mother shot back. She raked him with her eyes, the glance so cold Maryam shivered on Lazarus's behalf. Better a dead mother and a brainwashed father than this bloodless, arrogant pair. Now Mother Lilith turned the same freezing regard back to Maryam. “Well?”

Maryam dug her fingernails into the backs of her linked hands, using the pain to hold her mind in check. The urge to run, to throw open the doors and leap straight off the balcony, was strong indeed. Try as she might, she couldn't look at Mother Lilith as she spoke, instead staring at the embossed silver bowl that graced the table. It was filled with unripe mangoes and glossy purple figs. “Well…first you need…”

Her voice gained strength as she continued, spelling out as clearly as she could the process to transform the miriki-tarai shrubs into the tonic. Twice Mother Lilith interrupted her to clarify a point, but other than that she simply inscribed Maryam's recipe directly into the notebook while a deep frown-line built between her brows. Father Joshua, meanwhile, deserted his perch and crossed to the window, his hands grasped tightly behind his back as he stared out to sea.

When Maryam had finished her recitation, Mother Lilith
snapped the notebook shut and rose to her feet. “You'd better pray that this works as you claim, girl.” She stalked to the door and unlocked it, holding it ajar. “Lazarus, you come with me.”

Maryam's stomach twisted as Lazarus shook his head. “No,” he said. “I'll not leave Maryam here alone.”

His father reeled around, looming over Lazarus within the space of one shocked heartbeat. He grabbed him by his shirt collar and jerked him to his feet, the fabric tearing beneath his hand. “You'll do as you are told, boy.”

Lazarus, red-faced and seething, tried to shake away his father's hand, to no avail. “Let me go. You have no right—”

“Rights?” his father roared. “You forfeited all rights when you took up with this whore.” He flung Lazarus out into the corridor so hard he crashed against the opposite wall.

As sudden as a wind gust, Mother Lilith slammed the door then clicked the lock shut, shutting Maryam in alone with Father Joshua. Beyond, Lazarus began yelling and thumping but, just as suddenly, Maryam heard a pained grunt and all commotion stopped. Sharp fingers of fear pressed at her temples. Oh Lord, what had his mother done?

Heat flared through her as the realisation that Lazarus had told the truth unlocked her shame. How could she have doubted him? He was just as much at risk as she. And now Father Joshua was storming over to her chair, laying a hand on each armrest and pressing one of his knees right up between her legs so she was trapped. He leaned close in, until his long sharp nose was only inches from her own and she could smell his bitter breath.

“Well, well, well…here we are, alone at last.” His unflinching blue eyes bored into hers as he reached out, touched the tip of her nose, then ran his index finger down over her lips
and chin, down past her neck, until he stopped between her breasts and pressed so hard he pinned her to the chair. “Tell me, Sister Maryam, do you love the Lord?”

Again heat broke through her cold sweat and she guessed he'd see it on her face. Even if she lied, he'd know the truth. She swallowed hard, conscious of the sound. “I love the Lamb's message of forgiveness and kindness.”

He jabbed his finger—one, two, three times—against her breastbone. “You think you're so clever, don't you, missy?”

He shifted his hand away, but her relief was only seconds old when he drew it back and slapped it hard across her cheek. Her head crashed back into the headrest, a burst of bright white light exploding behind her eyes. Oh Lord in Heaven. Through the pain she realised he was fumbling with his clothes. Releasing his belt and trousers. Pushing up her dress.

“Please,” she shrieked, horror at the sight of his worming organ clearing her head. “I have my Bloods.” She thrust herself back, tucking her legs under her for purchase as she flipped backward over the headrest of the chair, her foot unintentionally connecting with his chin as it flew past. The collision knocked him away from the chair, his own disarrayed clothes tripping him further. He crashed to the ground.

Maryam ran to the door and started banging. “Lazarus! Someone! Let me out!” Her pulse was beating out of control, her breath gasping out in short shallow bursts. She checked over her shoulder, in time to see him scramble to his feet. “Help!” she screamed, pummelling the door again with both her fists. “Someone help!”

Then his hand was on her shoulder, spinning her around. He slammed her back against the door, his trousers up but still gaping open, and he clapped his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him,
but he pressed so hard her jaw could not release, and he swivelled his hand now, blocking off her nose as well. She couldn't breathe.

“You stupid interfering little bitch,” he spat, bloody saliva bubbling on his split lip.

She tried to raise her knee, to attack him where it would hurt the most, but her brain was fighting for its own life now, lack of air sending such panicked signals she felt as though her head and lungs would burst, and all her strength now bled away. She was fading, no longer able to put up a fight. All she could do now was hope he'd end it fast.

Then an unseen force flung her forward, breaking Father Joshua's grip. Maryam fell to the floor on her hands and knees, gasping and retching, her head pulsating, full of beating drums.

Mother Lilith stormed into the room. “Can you not control yourself at all?” She passed Maryam, kicking out casually but hard enough to knock Maryam onto her side. She curled into a tight protective ball, shielding her breasts and stomach, still too winded to speak.

Father Joshua grunted and took a white handkerchief from his pocket to press onto his lip.

“For goodness’ sake, do yourself up.” Mother Lilith gestured to his gaping trousers. “Can you think of nothing else? You're in great trouble here—that little brat has stirred the villagers up so much they're causing scenes. You have to use your head, so put away what's in your pants and start to pray.”

“Pray?” Father Joshua laughed, the sound harsh and unconvincing. “Sometimes, woman, I really think you're a little simple.” He straightened out his clothing and crossed to the open door, side-stepping Maryam as if she were covered in dung. “Deal with her.”

As soon as he had left the room, Mother Lilith bent down and grabbed a handful of Maryam's dishevelled hair, forcing her to stagger to her feet. “What have you got that I haven't, you scrawny little wretch?”

“I don't know wh—”

“Silence! You'll speak when you are bidden and that is all.” Mother Lilith took her roughly by the hand and led her from the room.

She bundled Maryam down the staircase, ignoring the curious stares of the servers, and down, too, past the accommodation levels to the deck where the waste-powered motors converted the salt water into fresh. The thrum reminded Maryam of the engines in the Territorials’ ship, building on the claustrophobic, trapped feeling of the low-ceilinged corridors to ramp up her anxiety even more. The few people down here were all hard at work, and did not even look up as the two walked past. Mother Lilith hauled Maryam right through to the other side of the huge engine room where a large metal door was recessed into one of the bulkheads. She spun a wheel-like contraption to release the lock and, without a word, pushed Maryam forward.

Maryam stumbled over the doorframe, trying to peer into the gloom, but before she could adjust her eyes to the weak watery light, the door slammed shut behind her. She pounded her fists on the wall, all the time knowing it was futile. The chances were they'd leave her here to die.

She gave up and turned around to face the darkness of the cell. Just then a figure loomed up before her. In literally seconds the attacker was upon her, wrapping his arms so tightly around her body she could not break free.

“Maryam!” Lazarus clasped her close, pressing her forehead into his bony chest.

As her shock gave way to relief, Maryam wrapped her arms around Lazarus as well, taking comfort in his warm embrace. Like a landslide after excessive rain, her delayed reaction to Father Joshua's assault swept through her now—a deep-seated shaking that rattled her teeth and bones.

Lazarus pushed her backward, holding her at arm's length to brush her hair back from her face, but she was too ashamed to meet his eye. “Holy Hell, what did that evil bastard do to you?”

His outrage jolted away the numbness in her brain. She rested her head on his shoulder, murmuring up into his ear. “I'm sorry I doubted you.”

“No, Maryam, please. It's me who's sorry—you have no idea how much.” His downy chin rubbed against her forehead and she drew back to study his profile as he continued. “I thought this way everything would be out in the open—that they'd not dare to harm you if it was known in the villages that you were here.” Even in the gloom she could see his brow crumple in self-condemnation. “I should've known he'd not care about convention. Please, tell me, did he…hurt…you?”

Maryam sighed, uncertain whether it was wise to tell Lazarus everything that had happened. He may well have changed since she'd first known him, but his temper and his stubbornness sprang straight from his father's loins. “He struck me,”
she admitted at last, handing him just enough to stop the questioning but nothing more. “I got him back, though.”

“You what?”

“My foot connected with his chin and somehow split his lip.”

His initial splutter now transformed into an admiring laugh. “Now that's my girl!” he scooped her up in his arms again, lifting her feet off the ground to swing her around. “I'm so relieved you're safe.” He pecked her on the nose and lowered her back down, now tugging at her captive hand. “Come on, there are seats over in the corner. Let's sit down.”

Still reeling from his open display of warmth she followed him through a maze of rusting machinery. What little natural light there was filtered in through filthy portholes, infusing the room with a grey, vapid glow. Lazarus led her over to a set of recessed bunks beside one of the largest portholes, smoothing out the scrap of blanket that lay on the lower bed. As he turned to offer her a seat, Maryam gasped. Now that it was light enough she could see his knuckles were split and raw. “Heavens, I'm so sorry. I've only been thinking of myself.” She took up each of his hands in turn, studying the damage as she realised he must have done this beating at Father Joshua's door. “What happened to you? One moment you were making an awful din, but then it went quiet. Did Mother Lilith knock you out?” She peered at his head, searching for signs of impact, but could see nothing amiss.

Lazarus shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly, but it had the same effect.”

“What do you mean?” He wasn't meeting her eye now, and even in the sickly light his face looked a little pink.

He laughed unconvincingly. “She took me out all right…”

“For heaven's sake, what happened?”

“All right, I'll tell you.” He fixed her with a beady eye. “But don't you dare laugh.” Stalling, he scratched his head before finally confessing. “She kneed me hard, in a place no man likes to be kneed. It dropped me like a stone.”

Try as she might, Maryam could not hold back one short ironic snort, thinking how she'd tried, and failed, to inflict the same insult on his father only minutes later. “Poor you.”

“Can you believe my own mother would do that to me?”

“I did,” Maryam replied, recalling how she'd defended herself in the bathing pool at Motirawa all those months ago.

He shrugged. “I know, but I deserved it then.”

He admitted this so guilelessly she felt like embracing him on the spot. How much he's changed.

“Tell me what happened after you left the Judgement,” she asked. “Was it bad?”

Lazarus leaned back and made himself comfortable beside her on the bunk. “At first they seemed pleased—making a big fuss that I had returned. But the minute they got me behind closed doors that all changed.”

“Did they know you left with us?”

Lazarus nodded. “It seems poor Aunt Deborah broke down under their questioning and spilled it all.” His face grew suddenly hard. “I get the feeling her death was no accident.”

“You think they killed her?”

“No, not killed her exactly…just planted the seed inside her head.”

It was such an appalling thought, neither of them could say anything for a moment, though the thud of the water purifiers
in the next-door room seemed to Maryam to beat out a frenzied percussion in time with her heart. If only Mother Deborah had agreed to come with us on the boat, perhaps she'd still be here. But then watching Joseph die so horribly would no doubt have hurt her more.

“So what happened when they got you on their own?” she asked at last.

“You know how my father is—he went berserk.”

“He hit you?”

“No. Hitting would've been a blessing—then, at least, I could have fought him back. Instead he literally screamed at me for hours on end. My mother too. On and on, all about how ungrateful I am, what a disappointment, what a disgrace to my breeding, you name it…if they hadn't searched me first and found the knife I swear I would've slit his throat. And then they started in on you—that's when I finally lost control.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told them everything—I didn't mean to, but they were just so infuriatingly arrogant I wanted to shock them, to let them know that I could see right through their lies.”

“You told them about the yacht?” This was a disaster.

“No, somehow I managed to skip over that bit and they were too het up to notice. But I'm afraid I blabbed everything else. They just made me so angry—thinking they're so special and important, placing themselves up there with the Lord. That's when I blabbed about the Buddha, and it really set them off.” He was ambushed by a sudden yawn. “I really am so sorry, Maryam. All I've done is make things worse.”

“It doesn't matter.” She was amazed how calmly she said this when she felt so utterly terrified inside. “They'd have heard
it all sooner or later. Besides, there's no point dwelling on it—now we have to figure out what to do next.”

Lazarus unfolded himself from the bunk and walked over to the porthole, punching at it with the fleshy pad of his fist. “Get out of here and sail the hell away. I'd rather take my chances with the Territorials than let them—”

The locking mechanism on the door let out a grinding squeak as someone spun its wheel. Maryam sprang up to her feet, crossing to Lazarus in a heartbeat. He shuffled her around behind him, steeling himself as footsteps came toward them through the gloom.

“Hushai!” The appearance of the blind old man rounding the corner and balancing a tray of food and drink seemed to Maryam almost miraculous. She ran to him, whisking the load out of his hands and quickly depositing it on the floor, before throwing her arms around his neck. “I'm so, so glad you're here.”

Hushai's milky eyes watered as he ran his spindly fingers across the contours of her face. “Ah, little Sister, when they told me you had returned I hoped it was not true.”

“Are you not pleased to see me?”

Hushai shook his head, a sad smile creeping to his lips. “I should have guessed you would return, but in my heart I wish you'd stayed away.” He stroked the nape of her neck, smoothing down her hair. “There are evil doings afoot.”

Lazarus stepped forward. “What do you mean?”

“Young Master?” Hushai held out his hand, inviting Lazarus to step into his sphere of touch. Again he explored with his fingers, as Lazarus stood by passively and let the old man read his face. “The Lord be praised! Our little Sister has healed the poison in your heart.”

Maryam turned in shock to see how Lazarus would react, but he simply shrugged and grinned.

“You see too well, old man!”

“I see and hear much that others try to hide.” Hushai released them both now, and allowed himself to be led over to sit between them on the bunk.

“You have news?” Lazarus asked.

“The Holy Father has just called an emergency council of all the Apostles and sent out word to all the village chiefs to tell them to report anyone who attempts to brew your cure.”

“I can't believe it!” Maryam said. “He'd rather see people continue to die from Te Matee Iai?”

“He has decreed that the cure is a demonic ruse, that anyone foolish enough to try it will discover that it speeds, not slows, their death.”

“But what about Lesuna? Is she not proof enough to expose that as a lie?”

“You forget the Rules, child. No one may question the authority of the Lord's chosen representatives…If the Holy Father says Lesuna's recovery is an illusion created by Lucifer to steal their souls, who are they to doubt?”

Maryam shook her head violently. “No, no, no. I saw myself how much the knowledge of the cure empowered them.”

“Hushai's right,” Lazarus said. “Now Father's made his verdict known, they'll all step meekly back into line.” He slammed his open palm against a metal upright to his side. “Stupid and ignorant, see?” He turned his angry eyes on Maryam, as though her people's subjugation was her fault alone.

So he is back to where he started: blaming the victims in
this crime. “I don't believe they'll all comply…I refuse to give up faith in what is right.”

Hushai reached for her hand with uncanny accuracy, grasping it between his own. “Let me help you run again, child. Your life is at risk.”

For a moment she was swept by such a surge of relief she couldn't think past it. Could he really do this? Get them safely out? But now her conscience stepped in, filling her head with the faces of all those who had risked their lives to help champion her cause.

“No!” She pulled her hand away from his touch. “We have to give them time…if we run away now it will only look as though the Apostles’ claims are right.”

Lazarus groaned. “Maryam, for goodness’ sake—”

“Exactly!” she cut in. “I'm only one puny girl, my life is unimportant. But you saw those little girls being taken at the Judgement, Lazarus, and—for goodness’ sake—you know yourself the terrible scourge that is Te Matee Iai. Your uncle died from it and dear Joseph. My mother too. If the only way to stand up for the truth is to die, then so be it.” She was trembling again, despite her brave words. But she meant them, she realised now—it felt as if her whole life had been leading her to this one terrifying point.

“I don't believe this—you're playing right into my father's hands. He'll kill you all right, and then where will your great cause be?”

“In Vanesse's heart. And Lesuna's. And in Hushai and his brother Kokoria's. All any of us can do is make a stand and hope that, person by person, the flame will be passed on into another's heart until, one day, enough flames will be ignited to burn the Holy City down.”

Hushai released a resigned sigh before he patted her knee. “Spoken like a true warrior, little one. I see now it is foolish to dissuade you. Tell me what I can do to help.”

“Do what you are best at: listen and learn. The more I know about Father Joshua's plans the better my chances.” She took up his hand again, guilty that she'd rejected his comfort only moments before. “But please, dear friend, don't put yourself in danger. I couldn't bear it if my actions brought you harm.”

“Just as you have asked me to respect your choice, so, too, must you trust mine. I have already outlived my usefulness here. Death holds no fear for me.” He stood now, feeling for her head, and planted a kiss on her crown. “The Lord be with you, Sister. I will come again as soon as I am able. Now eat. You'll need your strength.”

Guided by Lazarus, he shuffled back through the labyrinth of ancient machines, and then banged on the door to be released. So we are guarded, Maryam noted, buoyed, in a perverse way, that the Apostles viewed their presence here as such a threat.

She retrieved the tray Hushai had delivered, struck again by the fact that, whatever else the Apostles were planning, starvation played no part.

“So, warrior woman,” Lazarus said on his return. “What happens now?” He picked up a bowl filled with fish stew and began to eat.

“I think you should tell them you repent. There's no point both of us remaining trapped in here.”

“You must be joking.”

“This is my fight, Lazarus. I don't want to force you to—”

Lazarus clattered the bowl to the floor, turning his intense blue gaze onto her. “Don't you understand? I'm never deserting
you…I love you. I think I started the moment you first slapped my face!”

“But that's impossible!” The heat of a thousand suns consumed her. “You've fought with me—insulted and abused me—every step of the way.”

“More fool me. Have you not seen how hard I've tried to change—to please you? For the love of the Lamb, even an old blind man and a mute old woman can see the truth. Why can't you?”

The tepid stew, so tempting only moments ago, now turned her stomach. She truly didn't know what to say. “But Joseph…” She was ashamed to see how mention of his name struck Lazarus as if she'd delivered him a blow with her bare fist. “He's…I…” This was ridiculous: she didn't even know what she was trying to say. Confused buzzing in her ears blocked all sense from her mind.