by Mandy Hager
“You don't think we should wait a little longer, until we're sure everyone is asleep?” Now that the time had come to leave the relative safety and secrecy of the cave, her body seemed to baulk.
“I think it's better we just act as though we belong there, not sneak around. Remember, no one will dare question me…” He left the rest of the statement implied: the son of Holy Father Joshua and heir to his domain.
Although she knew Lazarus was right, it still irked her. The fact he'd been allowed to act with such impunity in the past was one of the reasons he'd become such a monster in the years before his flight. It worried her that now he was returning to the fold, all his new-found humanity would peel away to reveal more soft flesh just ripe for rot.
Around them, the darkness filled with the ear-splitting chitter of the fruit bats as they left the cave to forage for food. Their underbellies glowed in the scraps of moonlight that filtered in through the cave's entrance and sinkholes, seeming to turn the world upside down as their bodies transformed the ceiling into a sinewy wash of rippling sea. The sense of disorientation wasn't helped by the continued swaying motion after three days aboard the yacht, and Maryam wobbled as she rose to her feet.
“All right. Let's go.” She took the bag from Lazarus and pointed to the ledge that snaked along the side of the cave, accessible now as the tide continued to drop. “We can walk along there.”
Lazarus nodded. “If you go first, I'll shine the torch so both of us can see.”
They edged around the dripping mineral-streaked walls. Everything beyond the penetration of the torchlight's beam was enveloped in a thick blanket of darkness. It was as though they traversed a narrow bridge high in the heavens, with nothing around them except the black reaches of space. Time seemed to stop, the mouse-like scratchings and squealings of the bats adding a further unearthly dimension as they inched along the slippery ledge of rock and clay.
Once they cleared the cave, Lazarus turned off the torch to give their eyes time to adjust. They stood quietly in the moonlight as the music of the surf boiled up around them and the fresh littoral scents of Onewēre welcomed them home. But who else will welcome me? Maryam shivered as the cooling night nipped at her damp clothes. Who indeed? Dear old Hushai, if he still lived. And Mother Deborah—though who knew how she'd react when she heard of Joseph's death? It struck Maryam that there was no one else. No Ruth. Joseph, Rebekah, Brother Mark and Sarah all dead. Mother Elizabeth no longer on her side. Her father? No. It was fruitless hoping for something he would not give.
“Do you have friends you'll be pleased to see again?” she asked Lazarus, conscious of how little she knew about his former life.
The fallout of his cynical snort sprayed her cheek. “It is a long time since any so-called friends were truly courting me. I'm merely the conduit to my father: they usually figure if they win me over, they win Father over too.” He looked up at the sky, swivelling his head to take in the panorama of familiar stars. “It's strange, you know. Even though conditions in Newbrizzy were really bad, I think in some ways the time I spent working there was the best in my life.”
“Best? I thought you said it was terrible.”
“Confederation Town was terrible, but the people I worked with down at the wharves…” He paused for a moment, scooping up a stone to lob into the water, where it landed with a satisfying splash. “We were all the same there—no one person better than another. No one judging me for who my father was. They seemed to like me just for being me. To be honest, apart from Joseph, I don't think I've ever had a friend who didn't judge me or befriend me purely on the basis that I'm Father Joshua's son.”
Maryam was thankful it was night so he couldn't see the shame heating her face. Rarely, since the first awful day of her Crossing, had she thought of Lazarus as separate from his father. The two were usually entwined—and dually implicated—in her mind. “I'm sure there's someone…”
Lazarus slapped his sides, dismissing the discussion, then hoisted the bag from Maryam's hand and handed her the torch instead. “Come on. You're shivering. Let's get to my aunt.”
They made slow progress over the jagged rocks that swathed the headland, and Maryam was grateful once again for Charlie's gift of the boots. The terrain was so uneven and unpredictable it was tempting to turn the torch back on, but there was no knowing who would be out on such a night. Although they were still in the sacred burial area watched over by the village's great ancestor Te Ikawai—who held the ordinary villagers at bay—she didn't want to take the risk of being caught. The long artificial beam of the torchlight would be enough to draw curious attention to them, let alone discovery by someone who might have thought them dead.
By the time they'd passed beneath the limestone pillars that held aloft Te Ikawai's ancient ancestral mask, and which marked the border to his private domain, Maryam's eyes had finally adjusted to the moonlight. And it was just as well, as the track now took them through the scrubby wasteland that wove between the trees toward Motirawa village itself. She could hear a dog in the distance, its lazy yapping more likely prompted by boredom than defence, and now she could smell the faint lingering comfort of wood smoke on the cool breeze that had arisen since they came to land. With any luck Mother Deborah would have a roaring fire to thaw them—although her clothes were slowly drying, Lazarus was right about her shivering. Now it had started, she just couldn't stop. Unsure if it was driven by cold or fear, she had to clench her teeth to stop them clashing together, and it was only the promise of Mother Deborah's warm welcome that spurred her on.
Now, as the landscape became more cultivated and controlled, they approached the true outskirts of the village. Fire-and candle-light glowed from the windows of several thatched huts, though many were already in total darkness, their occupants no doubt asleep. As she and Lazarus made their way through the village, trying to look relaxed yet at the same time hugging the shadows, the sounds of human occupation replaced the murmur of the sea. Babies crying, a sudden laugh, a woman's voice softly singing in Onewēre's native tongue. Not unlike the camp, Maryam thought, yet the people who lived in Motirawa thought they were free.
Ahead, Mother Deborah's large thatched hut stood slightly apart from the other dwellings. It appeared to be in darkness and Maryam felt her apprehension growing as she contemplated waking Mother Deborah with the news that Maryam had survived the voyage while her precious son had not.
They paused outside the solid timber door. Even if she hadn't known Mother Deborah lived here, Maryam could have picked this place as housing an Apostle—no other hut was so substantial or had anywhere near as much privacy or space. Lazarus raised his fist, ready to rap on the door, but first he glanced at Maryam's face as if to check that she was ready. She drew in a deep breath and nodded. Lazarus knocked.
Nothing stirred inside the hut. He tried again, this time a little more urgently. Again, there was no reply. Now he lifted the wooden latch and pushed the door open, crossing the threshold with Maryam close behind him as he called.
“Aunt Deborah? It's me. Lazarus. Are you awake?”
The house was strangely cold and so silent it felt as though it held its breath. Pitch black inside—no light at all—they crept across the big main room toward the windows, surprised to find that all the shutters had been closed.
“Maybe she's away,” Maryam whispered, tripping over Lazarus as he came to an abrupt halt.
He didn't answer, but took the torch from Maryam's hand and switched it on.
“Lazarus, don't—”
But as Lazarus slowly tracked the beam around the room it became obvious the entire hut was stripped of human occupation. The huge bookshelves that had so impressed Maryam stood empty and the bright tapa hangings that used to brighten the woven pandanus walls had vanished too. No furniture, no utensils in the kitchen, no beds or clothes in the empty bedrooms. Nothing. All trace of Mother Deborah's existence in this hut was gone.
“Oh Lord.” Icy fingers of unease tracked up Maryam's spine. “Do
you think she's moved back to the Holy City?”
Lazarus shook his head, pacing the empty rooms like a wild boar corralled into a cage. “I don't believe she'd go there unless she was forced.”
“What do we do now?”
“I guess we try to get some sleep.” He stopped his pacing and squatted in front of the sooty stone fire place, shining the torch up the chimney to check that it was clear. “Let's light a fire, then think this through.” He headed for the door. “I'll find some wood.”
As she waited for Lazarus to return, Maryam crept into the smallest of the rooms, where Joseph once had slept. She unlatched the shutters and opened them, inviting in the reassuring whisper of the surf, then rested her head against the window frame and closed her eyes. Where are you? she called to Mother Deborah, trying to summon up her face: her tired eyes of washed-out blue, her fair hair greying to silver, her leathery sun-dried skin. Until Maryam could unburden herself of the news of Joseph's loss, she knew she wouldn't sleep—for how could she rest until his mother knew of Joseph's fate?
Lazarus returned with an armload of wood and kindling, and set about lighting the fire with the miraculous matches Charlie had packed into the bag. In no time at all flames were licking at the wood, spilling light out into the barren room. The crackling promise of warmth drew Maryam to the fire; she knelt down beside Lazarus and thrust her hands out to the heat to speed their thaw.
The flames were mesmerising and the heat enticing, sending Maryam into a tired trance as the long, fraught day caught up with her. She barely noticed as Lazarus left to collect more wood, her mind closing down to idle in a place of exhaustion, free from thought. But she was brought abruptly back to the present by raised voices outside.
“Stop! What are you doing here?” A man's voice, accusing and gruff.
“I came in search of my aunt,” she heard Lazarus explain.
Maryam leapt to her feet and charged for the doorway in time to see Lazarus step out from behind the shadow of a banana palm to face the older man directly. A native of the village, he was in his dotage, as twisted and bent as old Filza but with eyes so sharp they cut the night.
“Brother Lazarus?” He took a step closer, holding his arm out as if to test whether this vision was real. “Is that really you?”
Now Lazarus laughed so openly that Maryam relaxed. Whoever this was, Lazarus obviously knew him and felt no threat. “Koko! You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Indeed, for a moment I thought I had. The Lord be praised! I was going down to check my night nets when I noticed smoke coming from the chimney and saw a shutter unlatched. I thought I'd better check in case those rowdy boys from Aneaba were up to no good.”
“Where is my aunt?” Lazarus asked.
“You do not know?” Lazarus shook his head, and the old man put a steadying hand on his arm. “Come. I think we'd better go inside.”
Maryam fled back into Joseph's room, peeking from the doorway as Lazarus dropped his armload of wood and joined the old man in crouching by the fire.
“It's all right,” he called to Maryam. “You can come out.”
She crept back into the room, aware of the old man's surprised gaze upon her.
“Brother Kokoria is an old friend of my aunt,” Lazarus explained to her. “I've known him since I was small. Koko, this is Sister Maryam.”
“You!” Brother Kokoria said, his face giving nothing away, good or bad. “My brother and dear Mother Deborah thought much of you, despite what others said.”
Maryam could think of no appropriate answer, her heart beating so hard and fast it seemed to pulse right through her, setting off alarm bells in her brain. Something is wrong here. Very wrong. “Mother Deborah?” she said as she joined them by the fire. “Where is she?”
Brother Kokoria stripped the bark off a piece of wood and tossed it into the flames, before turning his gaze back to Lazarus. “Your aunt is with the Lord.”
“She's dead?” Lazarus tipped backward off his haunches, bumping onto the floor. “When? And how?”
“Two nights after you and young Joseph disappeared.” He turned to Maryam. “They said you lured them both out past the reef to feed the bakoas. It is also said that our dear Mother believed this and could not go on.”
Maryam felt as if a hand clawed at her throat as Lazarus cried out, “She took her own life?”
“I am so sorry to be the bearer of this news.” Brother Kokoria reached out and placed his hand on Lazarus's shoulder. “We found her in bed, surrounded by all Father Jonah's and young Joseph's prized possessions—she had sliced open her wrists and bled to death.”
Maryam choked on a sob. “Why would she do that? I don't understand.”
“Don't you?” Lazarus's face took on the harsh, closed look she'd hated so in the past. Now she realised it was holding in a great well of pain. “She knew she'd never see Joseph again, even if he lived, and she still mourned Uncle Jonah. She'd lost everything she loved. Why go on?”
The question pierced Maryam like a thorn as she remembered her own desperate urge to end her life after Joseph's death. And, too, that dreadful night at the camp when she'd fought with Lazarus as he had tried to end his life. Such a seductive idea in times of grief.
“Myself, I believe it was Father Jonah's death that unravelled her,” Brother Kokoria said. “She was not herself—in fact she left a letter claiming that the spilling of her blood was atonement for the Apostles’ sins.”
Maryam and Lazarus exchanged a knowing look. Poor Mother Deborah, Maryam thought, the spilling of the Sisters’ blood was not her sin to bear.
“And just what did my esteemed father say to that?” Lazarus asked.
Brother Kokoria rocked on his heels as he chose his words. “He sent forth a decree saying that Lucifer had been unleashed among us. That you, Sister—” he glanced at Maryam—“had not only stolen both body and soul of young Joseph and Lazarus here, and another poor innocent Sister, but also taken Mother Deborah's mind.”
Maryam leapt to her feet. “That's ridiculous. I—”
“Tell me, Koko,” Lazarus broke in, holding up a hand to halt her. “We need to get this clear. Does my father believe all four of us are dead?”
“Indeed,” the old man assured him. “You and Joseph and Mother Deborah were suitably farewelled as martyrs in the battle against evil, and now the Lord's chosen shepherds watch over their flock with extra care. And since the omen—”
“Omen? What do you mean?”
“It was the eve of the new moon when, from the heavens, came a monster—a giant black locust—as ferocious in its roar as a thousand thunderclaps. It circled the whole island before hanging over the Holy City until our Holy Father banished it with prayer and much shaking of fists. He said it had been sent by Lucifer to warn us of a new Tribulation if we did not repent our sins and submit to the will of the Lord's Apostles with willingness and joy.”
Maryam shook Lazarus's arm urgently. “I know what that was! I saw it on the ship!”
“Indeed, Sister,” Brother Kokoria broke back in. “The Holy Father linked the monster to you. He said it was a warning to all the treacherous disbelievers who rebelled against the Lord, and then he cursed your name.”
“He blames the Territorials’ flying machine on me?”
“I know not the monster's name, but Holy Father Joshua made his instructions plain. If any are suspected of being in league with Lucifer, no time will be wasted to invoke Rule Number Ten.”
The words chimed inside Maryam's head. Let any who reject the word of the Apostles of the Lamb be cast from the flock and punished in the name of the Lord. This was even worse than she'd imagined. Much, much worse. Lazarus's involvement in their disappearance had upped the stakes, just as she'd feared right from the start—his father using her to explain away his son's escape. And now this omen…If there was ever anything to frighten the people of Onewēre into unquestioning submission, the sight of this flying machine would do the trick. It was outside of their realm of com
prehension, the stuff of nightmares. In one sweep of the island the Territorials had achieved exactly what Ruth and Lazarus had feared: not rescuing the people, just making things worse.
“You can explain this?” Lazarus asked her, his eyes wide with puzzlement.
Maryam nodded frantically. “It was a flying machine with a man driving it inside. I saw him land it on the ship after we reached Marawa Island. I gather they used it to check my claims that no one else lived there.” She swallowed back a wobble in her voice and turned to Brother Kokoria. Must not cry. “I promise you, it had nothing to do with me.”
“You must swear, Koko, you won't yet tell anyone that we are here,” Lazarus said.
“But the Holy Father will be—”
“No! Please, you must trust me. We need time to think this through.”
“So be it, son of Joshua. Just for you.” Brother Kokoria's face lit with an obviously happier thought. “And Joseph? Is he, too, about to miraculously reappear?”
Lazarus shook his head. “Sadly, no. My cousin was taken by Te Matee Iai.”
Now the old man looked truly rattled. “That cannot be! Not my young friend Joseph. The Lord protects his own.”
Lazarus took the old man's hand and held it so tenderly Maryam's mouth dropped open in shock. She would've expected this from Joseph, but not Lazarus…
“Koko, you must believe me. Nothing is as it seems.” Now he sandwiched his other hand over Brother Kokoria's, as if sealing a pledge. “Whatever you are told, know this: Sister Maryam is innocent of whatever crimes my father accuses her of—in fact, she's here to set you free.” At Maryam's audible gasp he glanced over at her. “It's all right. Koko and my aunt were close, and you already know his brother Hushai…”
“You are Hushai's brother?” As soon as she said it, she could see the resemblance. “Is he still—” She couldn't bring herself to finish when already her heart was so full of grief at Mother Deborah's death.
“My brother is slower but still survives to serve.”
