by Mandy Hager
With this, she turned the gun upon herself and fired, straight into her heart.
There was stunned silence. Lazarus leapt to his mother's side, his hands slicking with her blood as he tried to stem the flow from the terrible wound in her chest. But there was to be no miraculous resurrection: Mother Lilith knew the workings of a human body too well to fail.
As the realisation that these events were real and not some pre-rehearsed act started to hit the congregation, Lazarus turned to Maryam.
“She's dead,” he said, his words triggering a wail from the Apostles and their families who occupied the nearest seats. Their distress flared like a newly lit wick, igniting a firestorm of screaming and shouting throughout the building, causing further panic and alarm as Lazarus crossed to his father, whose listless body lay in a pool of blood. “Father too.”
He ran over to Maryam then, his face whiter than the damning unstained sheet, and started to untie her right hand with fumbling fingers. Maryam shouted for Hushai to release Vanesse as well. One quick glance reassured her that the old man had succeeded in realigning Vanesse's jaw, but already a threatening phalanx of servers was storming the stage, Brother Luke spearheading the group as they formed a cordon around the two bodies and proceeded to haul them off, leaving behind two ragged trails of blood.
As soon as Lazarus had freed Maryam's right hand she tackled the bindings of the left, realising he was fast closing down with shock. His speed and dexterity were gone, his eyes glazed and uncomprehending as she broke free and scooped up the discarded scarlet fabric to shield her nakedness before tightly wrapping her arms around him to try to keep him tethered to the real world.
“I'm so sorry, Laz, this isn't what I wished at all.” She pressed her cheek against his bony chest, and felt his heart pounding so fast and erratically she worried it would do him harm.
He said nothing in reply, just stood there stiffly in her arms, staring over her head toward the darkening smears of blood as, beyond the stage, hysteria erupted on a deafening scale. The people of Onewēre wept openly and wailed wretched lamentations as news spread that they'd lost their Holy Father. The white Apostles and their families huddled together, many of them whispering and eyeing angrily those still milling on the stage.
From her raised position, Maryam could hear the rising undertone of speculation as the villagers tried to make sense of what they'd seen. With no comprehension of the workings of the gun, they concluded that it must have been Lucifer who'd struck the Holy couple down. Indeed, Mother Lilith's rash actions now placed all who'd raised their voices against the Holy Father at even greater risk than before.
Hushai and Vanesse rushed over to join them. “You must act decisively, young master, before things get completely out of hand.”
But Lazarus simply dropped to his haunches. He wrapped his arms around his knees and sank his head into the space between his knees and chest, rocking backward and forward like a hatching egg. Though Hushai could not see, he clearly sensed Lazarus's torment and reached his hand out with unerring accuracy to lay it on Maryam's shoulder. “Little one, you must convince him that he has to act.”
“Act how? Do what?” As she stood there helplessly and watched Lazarus curl in on himself, her own shock kicked in, forming a cold, constricting belt of tension around her head that crushed all rational thought. The grief and panic in the air was overwhelming, swirling up and over her until she feared she'd drown. It threw her back to the nightmare time when she'd plunged into the sea to flee the burning boat: no air to breathe, no strength to swim back to the surface, just helpless flailing as she tumbled further and further into the depths of the ocean.
“It is not enough to tear down what is wrong, Sister Maryam. The true sign of greatness is the ability to rebuild and put things right.”
The old man's rebuke had little time to resonate, as Maryam's father, Natau, now clambered up onto the stage to prostrate himself in front of Lazarus. “I am your servant, Holy Father. I pledge my loyalty to both you and your new wife.”
Has he lost his mind? Maryam stared at the back of her father's balding head, sickened by such blatant and cold-hearted self-interest. To think that Lazarus would seize the throne of his father when he'd finally turned his back on the Apostles’ evil ways was so disgusting she couldn't bear to look at him. But as she turned away, she saw that a group of servers were now consulting with the elite of the Apostles, all of whom seemed to be carefully assessing proceedings on the stage through unfriendly, hooded eyes.
“Listen to him, Lazarus. Natau hands you the key.” Hushai's tone was urgent. He cocked his head, concentrating past the uproar on something only he could hear. “If you do not act quickly all progress will be in vain.”
Still Maryam railed against such a thought. “How can you even suggest it? It's—”
“It's time to grow up and start acting like a leader,” the old man interrupted, his censuring tone causing her face to flare with heat. He shuffled up until he loomed so close Maryam could see into the cloudy layer of scar tissue that shrouded his eyes. “You must help the boy pull himself together and declare himself the sole and rightful heir. Without immediate action, the whole island will break apart.”
“He's right,” Vanesse mumbled through her bruised and swollen jaw. “If you work from within and lead by positive example, it may be possible for good to triumph over evil—otherwise there will be an all-out war for power.”
Beyond her, the Apostles were rising now and regrouping, the elite forming into a determined wedge moving toward the stairs. Maryam's head felt like it would explode—there was too much to try to make sense of, even while her mind was still reeling from the deaths of Father Joshua and Mother Lilith. But it was clear this strange reprieve—the numb calm in the eye of the storm—was nearly over, and she forced herself to reason through what Hushai and Vanesse had said. Perhaps it was just too much to expect people like her father to shed their beliefs overnight—after all, had she not fought Ruth on this for months and come to the conclusion that faith was something that had no logic or reason, but was something intangible that gave believers comfort—a buffer against the unknowable and unknown?
She dropped down next to Lazarus, unconvinced but unable to counter with a better plan, and grasped his face between her hands to focus him. “Listen to me, Lazarus. You have to make a stand—right now. You have to claim your father's inheritance before others take over and all chance of change is lost.”
He just stared at her, his eyes blank and uncomprehending.
She shook him, but still he did not respond. So, in desperation, she slapped his face, crying out as her hand met with his pale cheek. His eyes shocked wide, before slowly focusing on her own.
Thank you.
“Declare yourself Holy Father, Lazarus. For goodness’ sake, hurry.” Everything inside her screamed that this was wrong, and yet there seemed no other choice.
He shook his head. “You, of all people, want me to step into my father's tainted shoes?”
“I want you to save the lives of Hushai and Vanesse and Lesuna and all the other good people who've braved death for us, to fight for what is right. And I want you to save yourself—and me.” She glanced up—they were nearly surrounded now. The Apostles’ hefty servers were primed and waiting for the call to act. She grabbed Lazarus's hand and dragged him to his feet. “I beg you, Lazarus, do it now.”
“How could Mother do that?” he asked, ignoring Mother Michal and the troupe of other white-clad Apostles as they stepped up to the stage.
“Maryam, here!” cried Vanesse, tossing something at Maryam. She caught it instinctively, before she realised what it was.
The conch shell. The signal for silence in the storm. She raised it to her lips, blowing with all her might, but no sound emerged. Come on. Come on. She tried again, her gaze locked on the procession of Apostles as they circled her little group. This time the note rang out—a long pure tone that travelled through the chaos to the very back of the room. Instantly
there was silence, but Maryam knew that it would only last for one short moment and they'd have to grab their chance now or fail. Fatally fail.
“Good people of Onewēre,” she declared, pitching her voice to encompass the entire crowd. “The Lord was on your side today, routing out the evil foretold by the omen to enable the rising of greater good.” She could see Mother Michal opening her mouth to protest, so hurried on. “I present to you the rightful heir and new Holy Father…Lazarus!” She propelled him through a gap in the threatening circle so he was free of them and clearly in the people's view.
“Hail Holy Father Lazarus!” her father cried. “He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord will give Him the throne of His father, in order to bless us all.”
“But what of the girl?” Mother Michal cried, her voice ringing out as she, too, placed herself centre stage. “The real Holy Father condemned her as evil—Lucifer's spawn—do you really want to see her sitting at Brother Lazarus's side?”
Maryam's stomach knotted even more tightly as it became clear Lazarus was in no state to counter this. He stood like prey transfixed by firelight, staring down at his bloodied hands and red-stained clothes. He is clothed with a vesture dipped in blood… The Holy Book's words jumped unbidden to her mind, yet offered no defence at all. Please someone say something—this rebuttal is not mine to give. But no one stepped forward. There was just a subtle movement from the Apostles’ circling guards, who looked to Mother Michal for her next command. This could be it. This could be the moment where our bid for freedom finally fails.
But then, to her utmost amazement, her grovelling father pushed forward again and jostled through the wall of servers to his daughter's side. “Alleluia: for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth!” he roared. “Let us be glad and rejoice, and give honour to Him: for the marriage of the Lamb is come, and his wife have made herself ready…and her light is like unto a stone most precious…and there shall be no more curse…”
“Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that you receive not of her plagues…” Mother Michal countered. “Therefore shall her plagues come in one day, death, and mourning, and famine; and she shall be utterly burned with fire: for strong is the Lord who judgeth her. I swear to you, the mark of the beast is upon her. If you support her and her depraved husband—”
But Maryam's father broke in again, regaining something of the strutting rooster as he paced the stage with his lopsided limp. “Three times we have been sent omens to herald the dawning of this new age. First the black beast that circled in the skies, on the very day that marked my daughter's sixteenth birthday…”
Maryam was amazed: she was another year older, and her father remembered when her birthday was and had claimed her as his kin. Did that mean in some way he still cared? She honed back in on his words.
“…and then the show of blood—of purity—after it had been denied by He Who Was Overcome By Evil, and now, again, a third and final mark of proof.” He rushed at Maryam, grasping her scarred left arm to hold out for all to see. “Look! She bears the mark of the Lamb: the first letter of His earthbound name.” Natau traced his finger along the line of her scar, emphasising its subtle curvaceous form. J for Jesus or J for Joseph? Certainly J for Jumping To Conclusions and for Just In Time.
It didn't seem to matter how precarious the link, for the united intake of breath spoke volumes. For a few intolerable moments there was a considered hush, then a solitary woman's voice shouted from the back of the congregation. “Hail Mother Maryam. Hail Holy Father Lazarus! Praise be to the Lord for ridding us of evil and bringing forth new leaders to guide us in His Holy Name.”
Maryam recognised the voice. She scoured the bobbing sea of faces until she located the one she sought. Mother Elizabeth grinned as her call took flight around her and built into a whirlwind of fanatical joy. How easily the crowd's allegiances are swayed, Maryam thought. She cast around, checking what threat still simmered behind them, in time to see impotent fury sweep Mother Michal's face.
Vanesse grasped Lazarus by the elbow now and towed him to the vacated throne beneath the painting of the Lord. She thrust him down into it, bellowing out with all the strength of her abundant lungs. “Rule Number Nine: None may question the authority of the Lord's chosen representatives: the sacred Apostles of the Lamb.”
The jubilation of the villagers became an unstoppable force, overwhelming the seditious circling of Mother Michal and her fellow Apostles. They broke from their ranks and surged onto the stage to seek the blessing of their new Holy Father by filing past the throne to kiss the ground at Lazarus's feet.
He looked on as though he was no part of it, his body slumped, exhausted and sealed within a thick bubble of shock and grief.
“Go to him,” Vanesse prodded Maryam. “Hushai and I will rally loyal servers to subdue any potential revolt. Right now he needs you at his side.”
She had no argument with this: indeed, at this moment the strange bid for succession was far less important than trying to salve poor Lazarus's pain. It truly hurt to see him so shattered. No matter how terrible Father Joshua and Mother Lilith had been, they were his only family, and they had died right in front of him. And now he was cast adrift—with the heavy mantle of Holy Father foisted on him as well. She slipped in behind the throne, glad of the shelter it gave her ridiculously clad body, and placed her hand on his shoulder so he'd know she was there.
Beyond the snaking trail of devoted villagers, several of the Apostles were now joining the queue. It was incomprehensible how quickly the tide had turned: one moment she'd been about to be torn asunder by a rabid crowd, the next the whole world flipped upside down. To think her father, so steeped in all his superstitions and so-called piety, should be the one to flip that flow back in her favour, and then Mother Elizabeth…Never in a million high tides would she have guessed this…Still, she couldn't help but dwell on how stupid and naive she'd been to think she could tell the truth and everyone would fall into line. She'd put no thought at all into the reality of where that line might lead. Hushai's admonishment had changed all that in an instant, making her childish lack of forward planning more than plain. Yet, even if she'd had a plan, cajoling Lazarus to take on the role of Holy Father would never have occurred to her—or him. It was as crazy as a shoal of tiny reef fish impersonating an enormous bakoa to scare the real one away so they could live in peace.
Maryam was brought back to the present by the feel of Lazarus's cold fingers on her hand. He glanced up at her, his eyes red-rimmed. “You have to get me out of here.”
She knew it was foolish—and dangerous—for him to leave at such a crucial time. His presence was required to keep the situation under strict control. But the desperation in his eyes was hard to bear. Besides, he looked to her for help and she didn't want to let him down. He needed her—needed to know that he was not alone.
“Just let me summon Hushai, then I promise you I will.” She looked up then to see Mother Elizabeth lowering herself awkwardly before Lazarus. “Please, don't,” Maryam said, aware of how strained and tired the pregnant Mother looked up close. She stepped around the side of the throne and helped her back up to her feet. “Thank you. What you did was very brave—in fact, I think I may well owe you my life.”
“Thank you. You showed me how.” She pulled Maryam to her and rubbed her thumb tenderly down Maryam's cheek. “I'm proud of you, te bebi, for standing up for what is right.” She drew back and held Maryam's gaze. “Now I offer you a word of advice: do not delay in calling together all the chiefs and the Apostles to lay out your rules. You must show decisiveness or Mother Michal and her friends will rise once more.”
“My thanks again. I'll see what we can do.” She squeezed Mother Elizabeth's hand once more, then let her go as others pushed forward to ingratiate themselves at Lazarus's feet. Now she cast around for Hushai, and spied him over near the auditorium doors.
“I'll be back in a minute,” she reassured Lazarus.
“Hushai,” she said, moving as close to him as she could. “I must get Lazarus away before he cracks.”
Her old friend nodded. “I understand. Take me back up there quickly and I will ease his way.”
As she led him through the milling crowd and back up to the stage, Maryam told Hushai of Mother Elizabeth's warning. “She is right,” he agreed. “This must be dealt with straight away—so fetch the conch and blow it once again.”
When the long note came to its end and all conversation had ceased, Hushai addressed the crowd. “The Holy Father and Mother must now attend to the dead. Tomorrow at noon they will lead the funeral rites and then convene a meeting of all the village chiefs. Meanwhile, go back to spread the word to every soul on Onewēre: Te Matee Iai is beaten and the time of Holy Father Lazarus has come. Praise be to the Lord!”
A rousing cheer filled the auditorium, then the villagers began to leave. Hushai fixed Maryam with his opaque stare. “We have organised a watch over those who still might do you harm, but I think you'll find that most of the Apostles are just as compliant to the Rules as everybody else.” A wondrous smile broke out on the old man's face. “Lord in heaven! I never thought I'd live to see this day!”
“We are far from free yet,” she reminded him. “While The Rules are still in place and Lazarus must live this lie…”
“One step at a time, child. Then, little by little, start to alleviate the wrongs and celebrate the rights.”
“I don't know what you mean.” She had no time to figure out his riddles and rhymes when Lazarus himself was so desperate to escape.
“Find your feet slowly, then lead by example…share the wealth and knowledge, and your generosity will win you respect and love. Then, and only then, can you start dismantling the many inbuilt wrongs.”
