by Mandy Hager
“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.
Lazarus sank his head into his hands, his breath sifting loudly backward and forward through his fingers. Finally he blew out a defeated breath and raised his head. “I understand. Forget I ever said a thing.”
“I do like you, Lazarus. I really do. We're friends. It's just—”
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “It's all right. There's really no need to explain.” The devastation in his voice made her want to weep. “
I understand it. I loved my cousin too. He was everything I'm not.”
He skulked away, disappearing behind one of the machines before she could think of a reply. Stupid. She should have seen this coming—but he'd so loathed her, right from the start. Surely?
Then his words that first night of their outward voyage sprang to her mind. The thing with hate, Sister, is that it needs love to define it… Oh Lord, even then?
She thought about his spying as she and Joseph caressed each other in Marawa Island's gentle waters, and his fury when he thought she was toying with Joseph's love. How could she possibly have known? And yet…that day at Umatu's, she realised now, he'd almost said it then, but she'd rejected it, banished all whispers of that possibility from her mind. Yet the proof was there, if she'd chosen to look. He'd sailed to her rescue, risking his life. He'd opened up and told her of his childhood, his deepest fears. Whenever she had needed him, despite her constant irritation and suspicion, he was there. And how was she rewarding him? By breaking his heart. The trouble was, it caused her own heart to hurt just as much.
Maryam went in search of him, finding him slumped in a corner near the door. He did not look up as she approached, but stared steadfastly at his feet. She squatted down beside him, looping her arm around his neck, and felt how his body stiffened. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, trying to transmit how much she cared.
“I'm sorry.”
He didn't reply, nor did he move an inch. The silence built around them like an impenetrable mist, and eventually Maryam closed her eyes. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and matched his breathing with her own.
The next thing she knew Lazarus was lifting her, carrying her like a baby back over to the bunk. She was so dozy she couldn't unlock her tongue to speak. He lay her down carefully and spread the scrap of blanket over her to keep her warm.
She heard him climb into the bunk above, and had almost drifted back to sleep when she heard him start to cry. The sound ate right into her, down to her bones, the guilt a deep enduring ache inside. When she could bear it no longer, she rose and climbed up beside him, curling herself around his heaving back until, at last, his pain gave way to exhaustion and they both could sleep.
