The Crossing (9 page)

“I like that,” Sarah murmured. “Perhaps I, too, will become a star.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as a spasm shuddered through her body. She turned her head to Maryam. “Watch for me, Maryam. When you look up to the stars for help, I will be there.”

Her eyes drooped shut, her breath coming in ever more shallow bursts. She reached out with her free hand, urging Maryam to take the fragile fingers in her own. “I am so sorry I didn't warn you,” she said. “It was—” Whatever she had meant to say was swept away by another painful spasm.

Maryam didn't know what to say. Should she try to recall the passages Father Joshua had recited at the funeral for Jonah? Or the lessons Mother Elizabeth had taught inside the maneaba? Something soothing and appropriate to light the way?
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven
…But the words simply did not fit. There was no season, no purpose, to Sarah's death.

She glanced at Joseph, wondering how he could sit there so calmly when his people had been party to this crime.

His eyes were closed, she saw, and his head slumped back against the wall. He sniffed quietly, then sniffed again, and she realised with amazement that he was crying. The memory of his grief at his father's death came back to her. Whatever part his family played in this wicked plan, it was obvious he had a heart, one that was hurting as much as hers—maybe more. And despite her blood pumping through his veins, he had the curse of Te Matee Iai upon him. She turned from him—willing the ball of anger in her chest to roll away.

Behind them, the wheel mechanism on the door started to turn and, before they could react, Hushai's soothing voice called through. “It is just me, Sister Maryam. Do not fear.”

He stepped onto the deck, balancing an armload of blankets and a drinking cup. Without a word, Hushai, Maryam and Joseph worked together to cushion Sarah more comfortably and wrap her warmly. Then, Hushai crouched down beside her and raised the cup to Sarah's lips. “Drink this, little Sister. It will help.”

Maryam could smell the toddy as Sarah tried to drink. She retched on it, barely able to swallow even the smallest sips.

Maryam could not contain the repulsion she felt for the numbing toddy. “Is it wise to give her that?” she asked, hating all the implications of its use.

“It will do her no more harm, little one. All we can do for Sister Sarah now is ease her way.”

When Sarah had drunk all she could, her breathing grew less forced and the tight lines of pain upon her face began to smooth.

Now Hushai turned to Maryam. “You must go before your disappearance is discovered.” He looked over at Joseph. “You as well. I will stay with Sister Sarah until her time.”

The thought that she was now to walk away, leaving Sarah to her death, hit Maryam hard. Suddenly her birth mother's face came to mind: the warm honey of her eyes, the mouth that cried Maryam's real name as she was taken…She leaned down to Sarah and kissed her tenderly upon each cheek. “Do you remember your birth parents, Sarah? Do you still know the name they gave to you when you were born?”

Sarah's eyes did not open and her head shook slightly as though trying to find the words. Then, as Maryam feared she would not have the strength to answer, her words came out in a drowsy hush. “Tekeaa…My mother was from the village of Aneaba, in the south.” Her eyes fluttered open for a second, meeting Maryam's. “The same as yours.”

Maryam blinked. Her family came from Aneaba? She never knew. But the opportunity for further questioning was gone—that time was past. Maryam pressed her cheek against Sarah's, whispering into her ear. “Goodbye, Tekeaa. I will find your family somehow, and tell them of your goodness and strength.” With one final embrace, she pushed herself upright, fighting the vertigo inside her head.

She longed now to put this dreadful scene behind her, but she must thank Hushai first. She leaned over to the old man, kissing his craggy cheek. “Hushai. You've been so very kind.”

He reached up and cupped her face in his dry long-fingered hand. “You, too, must rest now, little one. Your life force is very weak.” He squeezed her chin between thumb and forefinger. “If ever you should need someone and I am not able to assist you, go to Mark. You can trust him with your life.”

She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks as the dam inside her throat was breached. Stepping in through the metal door, she leaned against the cold damp walls of the corridor. She was so tired.

Then Hushai stood in the doorway, with Joseph close behind. “One more thing, Sister. You learnt the secret of the room?”

Maryam nodded, taking one of his hands and placing it over the needle site upon her arm. “They steal blood. They suck it right out of our veins and pump it straight back into theirs.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness from her voice, and she dared not look past him to Joseph's face. “Our blood is what saves them from Te Matee Iai.”

The old man sighed. “So, it is truly as I feared.”

He left her then, returning to Sarah's side. But Joseph
stepped across the doorway and stood before Maryam. His face was white as coral sand, the disgust in his eyes clouding the blue. “So my recovery was the final insult that has brought about Sister Sarah's death?”

Maryam stared at him, confused as to what he meant. Then it struck her. He did not know the blood was hers. He thought that Sarah was the donor, that the responsibility for her death was his. What a weight for him to bear. But right now she could not deal with his guilt as well. She walked away, desperate to reach her bed.

“Sister Maryam. Wait!” He followed her, dragging at her arm. “Tell me. I must know the truth.”

She shook away his hand and faced him squarely. Would he
really
want to know? “No, Brother Joseph. The blood they stole to give to you was not from her.” She saw the faint spark of relief light his eyes and raised her arm, baring the incriminating bandage. “The blood they stole came straight from me.”

The look of horror in his eyes helped a little to warm her heart. At least he did not take for granted that her life was worth less than his. “I'm so, so sorry,” he mumbled. “I had no conscious part in this.”

“Please,” she said, “go to your room and try to hide the fact that you have been released. I need to rest and neither of us can risk being found like this.” She did not wait for him to respond, just charged down the corridor as fast as her exhausted body would allow.

Joseph pursued her, his footsteps loud in the silence of the night. “Maryam, wait!” His voice reached out tendrils of need that tugged at her. “Will you at least meet with me tomorrow so we can talk?”

“All right,” she snapped. “All right. But you must find a way to come to me.”

With that she turned away again. She had to leave now, had to get back to her room, before she drowned in the grief she felt at watching Sarah as she died.

Maryam woke to the sound of a key turning in her bedroom door, which she had carefully relocked on her return the night before. But no one came, and she closed her eyes again, tiredness pressing down on her like heavy air before a storm.

She knew, without being told, that Sarah's life had ended—yet the tears she cried last night had purged her of the worst of the pain and left her calm. Today, Ruth and Mother Elizabeth would come. Somehow she must speak with them, no matter how costly the price.

Her mind played touch-tag with the information Sarah had gifted her, the name of the village from which she came. It made sense to her in retrospect, how she had felt an almost physical reaction to the tattoos of the servers from Aneaba, as though somewhere in her earliest memories she had known them. But it disturbed her to know this fact, drawing all the longing and uncertainty back to her mind. Was her birth mother still alive and living there, believing that her daughter was better off in the care of the Apostles? That she was Blessed?

“Morning!” Rebekah pushed open the door and carried in a breakfast tray. She smiled brightly, registering no hint of what had taken place between the two the night before. “Mangoes and pawpaw for breakfast, then Mother Michal wants you back at work in the kitchens to help with lunch.” She slid the tray onto the bedside table and pointed at the brimming cup of toddy. “Remember to drink it all—it'll help the day pass easier.” She made to leave, managing to avoid Maryam's gaze.

“Rebekah, wait!” There was no way she would defer to Mother Michal's instructions to be silent now. There was too much at stake; too much that she had to know. Maryam swung her legs out of bed, swaying a little as she sat upright. Despite her sleep, she still felt drained and very weak. “Did you know that Sarah died?”

The girl's eyes clouded, a gust of pain stirring her face. But seconds later it was replaced by what looked like a well practised smile. “
Rule Seven
,” she chanted. “
Like the Lamb who suffered for us, we too must suffer in silence and pledge our obedience to the Lord and his Apostles of the Lamb
.”

Maryam gaped at Rebekah, astounded by her lack of grief. “That's it? You hear your friend has died and you smile?”

Her scorn dealt the desired blow: Rebekah reeled, her compliant façade slipping just long enough to reveal her fear. “We must not speak of this,” she whispered urgently. “Punishment for lack of obedience is most severe—and Mother Michal has especially warned me not to speak with you.” She checked over her shoulder, as if she expected Mother Michal to pounce right then, and crept in close to Maryam's side. “There is only one way to survive this, Maryam—and that's to close your eyes and ears and do precisely as you're told. Believe me, there's no other choice.” She shuddered, viscerally underlining the dread behind her words.

“But don't you—”

Rebekah cut through Maryam's question with an angry stroke of her arm. “Don't. We will not speak of this again.” She took a deep breath, pasting the smile back on her face. “See you in the kitchen soon.”

Maryam stared after Rebekah's retreating back, considering
the barrier she had placed between them. There was no denying Rebekah's fear—and no point at all in trying to shake her from the web of compliance she'd spun around herself to survive. But she did not blame Rebekah, she realised with surprise. Each of them must find a way to be safe—it was just she didn't understand how Rebekah could manage to block the outrage, doubt, and disillusion from her mind. If only it was that easy….Then Maryam recalled the yellow-staining toddy. It seemed most had chosen submission to its stupefying effects, rather than living with any clear-eyed view of life aboard
Star of the Sea
. And it made good sense not to rock the boat, even if the boat was nothing but a rotten wreck. It was safer, no doubt of that, and helped to dull reality that could not be changed. In a way she was jealous, wishing she could block the rising tide of indignation from her mind as easily as others here.

For now, though, it was all that she could manage to dress herself and take the empty water bucket down to the noisy service deck. Her head still fought off dizzying fatigue as she filled the bucket with fresh water and hauled it back upstairs. Four times she had to stop for breath, her heart beating so stridently it seemed to bruise her chest. But at the foot of the final run of stairs she felt the weight drop away, as someone lifted the burden from her failing grasp. She turned, meeting Brother Mark's shy smile.

“Let me help you, little Sister,” the big man offered, the bucket handle a mere thread in his hands.

“Thank you,” Maryam responded, resisting the desire to cry. This random act of kindness almost undid her, twisting the cold hands of loneliness and isolation tight around her throat. She followed him, unable to keep up with his long loping
gait. He seemed to know which room was hers, striding down the low musty corridor and setting the bucket down carefully outside her door.

“Thank you,” she murmured again. “That's very kind.”

He shrugged, acknowledging her words, but his face revealed a wistful sadness. “I have a message for you, Sister, from our friend Hushai. Sister Sarah is released.”

Maryam nodded, allowing his words to settle on her. Whatever evils Sarah had suffered in this so-called Holy City, at least now she was free of fear, her spirit up there with the stars. “I thought as much.”

She laid her small hand on Brother Mark's arm, remembering the risk Hushai had taken to help her ease poor Sarah's way. “And Hushai? My—his—actions have not brought him harm?”

Brother Mark's lips grew tight and thin and she worried she had said too much. There was no one she could really trust, until she finally made contact with Mother Elizabeth and Ruth.

“His actions have been noted and his rations cut,” he said.

“But that's so—so wrong!” The words flew out before Maryam could restrain them. She felt heat flood her face. What if Brother Mark reported her? Or Mother Michal overheard?

The big man's yellow-tinged eyes searched out her own and held them, transmitting his silent agreement. He stooped down and whispered into her ear. “Be very careful, little Sister, what you say.”

With a quick check over his shoulder to make sure they were unobserved he took her hand, cupping it inside his own great paw. “Hushai was right about you. You have the strength of our ancestors in your soul.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her gaze
back to his worried eyes. “Promise me this one thing: let no man crush that strength, no matter how hard they might try.”

How easily he said the words. But did she really have the choice?

After she had washed and dressed, Maryam made her way up to the kitchen to begin her chores. She kept a wary eye out for Joseph, wondering what she would say to him if he appeared. He seemed so genuine, so deeply shocked by what he saw. Yet he had lived inside
Star of the Sea
for his whole life, had he not? Surely he had some notion of what was taking place on board? Was he truly blind to it, or was he merely playing games?

The kitchen was already buzzing with activity and Mother Jael assigned her to toddy-making for the day. Brother Mark led the team; she was comforted to have him working near to her, and cheered by the way he rallied his group of servers and led them in a rousing chant. But not even this was enough to feed her energy, and it was only a matter of minutes before the heavy grinding stone took its toll. She was sure she could actually feel the lack of blood inside her veins, as though her vitality had been sucked away. Each time she had to raise the stone, to bear it down onto the nuts to shatter them, it weakened her, until she could barely raise the stone above the bench.

Brother Mark observed her wiping cold sweat off her forehead. “Enough of this today, I think,” he told her, taking the millstone from her and passing it on to Brother Ethan. “Take over Sister Maryam's work, would you, Brother? I need her to help me with the stocktake down below.”

Maryam smiled gratefully and they descended the service stairs to a cellar far below. There was no magical lighting in this cold space, created down beneath the water line to keep the food and drink from rotting in the heat. Brother Mark took a lantern from the wall and lit it with a strike of flint. Warm yellow light flared shadows out across the walls before it settled to a constant glow. After the dead stale air inside the stairway, the smell in here was a surprise—sweet, like the pungent fragrance of ripe fruit. “Wait here a moment, Sister,” Brother Mark told her. “I require another lantern to complete our job.”

While he filled a second lantern with its precious fuel, Maryam peered around the room, unprepared for the row after row of neatly formed shelves stacked high with goods. She wandered between the rows, studying their contents with growing awe. Toddy enough to stupefy every person on the island was stored there in huge clear containers. She tapped the side of one, wondering if it was made of glass such as she had seen upstairs, but it sounded dull beneath her fingers and was much more pliant than she'd have guessed. Whatever it was made from, it came from the time before the Tribulation, of that she was sure.

Another row revealed a huge store of te kabubu powder. Made from the ripe fruit of the pandanus, it was a true famine food—able to be stored in its powder form for around two years. Maryam had learned the art of making it with all the other Blessed Sisters: the slicing, steaming, mashing, moulding, kneading, drying, baking, grinding process that transformed the fruit into this nourishing food. Every village had a store of te kabubu, not just for its ceremonial value when mixed with water and then drunk, but for its nourishing qualities that could sustain a man on it alone for many weeks. Once, her ancestors
had used it to endure their long sea-voyages; now, she guessed, it lay here as a back-up food in times of stress.

As Brother Mark lit the second lamp she was able to see further. Loaded baskets of taro, breadfruit, coconuts, and many fruits lined the shelves—the source, she realised, of the sweet scents. Never had she seen such abundance in one space before. If she needed proof that the Lord supported his Apostles, this was it. No one could maintain such wealth of food without His will.

Brother Mark showed her how to count and record all the stores. Beside each heading on her page was a tally of each item as it came and went. At any given time, she figured, the Apostles knew exactly how much food lay within this room. There was a certain power in this knowledge, she could see. While Onewēre's people lived from hand to mouth—fishing and farming as best they could, and praying for success each day—the Apostles' food stock was secure.

Once she'd mastered the recording process, Brother Mark left her to complete the work. It was just what she needed, something demanding enough to engage her brain and stop the swill of questions there, yet light enough not to tire her as the grinding had. She worked into a kind of daze, surprised when the conch shell bellowed out, announcing lunch.

As she walked toward the dining room, Maryam's excitement grew. Her friends must have arrived by now and she was desperate to see them both. And, sure enough, when she entered the room there was Mother Elizabeth at the top table and a quick scan of the servers' tables revealed Ruth. She wore the blood-smeared Judgement gown and bore the dark stains of goat's blood upon her cheeks. Maryam ran across to her, tears welling in her eyes as Ruth met her with a rapturous smile.

“I told you I would be here soon!” Her skin shone with health and happiness, and she tucked an arm around Maryam's waist and drew her down onto the empty chair beside her. “Tell me everything you know! Is it as wonderful as we had dreamed?”

Maryam found she could not speak. This was not the time or place to answer Ruth truthfully, and yet she didn't want to lie. “There's much to tell you,” she murmured guiltily, suddenly aware of several sets of eyes upon her. Heat flamed up her face and she avoided the eyes of Mother Michal, who was watching her with great intensity and whispering behind her hand to Mother Lilith. She knew Lazarus's eyes were on her, too, had felt his intense stare the moment she'd entered the room. But she saw no sign of Hushai nor, strangely, of either Joseph or his mother in this hungry flock.