by Mandy Hager
“I doubt he'd be so stupid as to try to walk there in the dark,” Lazarus pitched in. “I reckon he most likely left just before dawn. That would make him an hour or so ahead at most—if you two are fast enough, we just might have a chance to catch him up.”
“But we've no idea which route he took,” Ruth grumbled.
“Then pray, Sister, that your Lord will help us find the way.”
As they approached the place where Maryam had fallen, Lazarus, who was leading, let out an amused snort.
“Nice one, cousin!” He pointed to the collapsed wall. There, strategically placed on top of the pile of dislodged stone, sat a disintegrating skull, its hollow eyes calling their bluff.
“I told you so,” Ruth crowed, before fanning her hand out from the side of her face to block the grisly sight from view.
Maryam, too, averted her eyes, needing no further reminder that they raced with death. The quest to find the people of this island was completely irrelevant to her now—there was but one life she was desperate to find. Lazarus's accusation banged mercilessly around inside her brain: Joseph's disappearance was her fault—hers alone. How could she not have seen that the plague was returning?
But then a tiny prick of doubt entered her mind. What if Lazarus was lying to her yet again—using her confusion and her guilt to punish her for his dislike? It was possible: he had no scruples and, although he tempered his behaviour in Joseph's presence, without him there were no guarantees. She found herself studying him for any subtle hint that might unmask him at this game. But Lazarus's sense of urgency seemed real: he crashed through the undergrowth without restraint, clearing a path for her and Ruth in his wake.
For almost an hour they tramped in virtual silence, pausing only to yell Joseph's name. There was no response except the echoing call of the birds, crying out in alarm as the three trekked past. Lazarus was following some kind of track now, a thinning in the thick labyrinth of jungle that seemed to shroud the whole island.
The tumbledown village disappeared behind them as the gradient grew steeper. All three of them were panting, the humid jungle air sapping their strength; even strong-limbed Ruth fell behind Lazarus's breakneck pace. The girls had to concentrate to keep him in their sights as he pressed onwards. Then, as they pushed through a thicket of scratchy bracken, they almost ran straight into his sweat-soaked back.
He had halted, breathing hard as he stared up ahead of him. A crumbling stone stairway rose steeply from the jungle floor, two strange sculpted creatures flanking its point of ascent.
“I think we might have found our mystery building,” he said, sounding awed. He ran his hand over one of the statues, tracing the swirling lichen-stained relief cut into the stone.
Maryam had never seen anything like it: it looked like some kind of malformed dog, decorated with an intricately carved breastplate above the sturdy taloned feet of a bird of prey. Time had eroded the stone, and its crumbling edges had fallen away, but its threatening nature lingered still. Beside her, she heard Ruth start to pray.
“Come on then,” Lazarus insisted, launching himself up the uneven steps two at a time.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ruth muttered, seizing Maryam's arm to hold her back.
“We have no choice,” Maryam countered, but she squeezed Ruth's broad hand all the same. “We've got to find Joseph before he wears himself out.”
She tried to push aside her guilt, but it would not shift. Regardless of Lazarus's concerns for him, she had to locate Joseph and let him know how much she cared. And, if her worst fears were realised and Lazarus was right, she had to persuade Joseph to accept more blood. She had the means to save him, hidden back inside the boat, and would not rest until she did.
They ducked beneath the overgrown canopy of branches, stumbling on the loose slabs of stone that teetered and shifted beneath their feet as they climbed. Soon they reached a landing, again bordered by more fantastical creatures—this time two squat figures, their mouths twisted in leering smiles, fat pointed ears and long segmented noses that curved up like thick coils of rope. Beyond the landing rose another flight of steps, though its final destination was hidden by an enormous uprooted tree.
Lazarus was first to tackle it, using the forks in its branches as footholds to help him clamber up its side. As he crested the top and straightened up, he released a slow awestruck whistle and shook his head. “Holy Mother! You're not going to believe this.”
Maryam pushed Ruth ahead and hoisted her up to the first foothold. She followed quickly, her thigh muscles screaming as she stretched her legs to their limit to scale the gnarly trunk. Then Ruth in turn reached over to haul Maryam up before straightening to take in the view. “Oh Lord.”
Before them stood a tall gateway formed from tiers of sectioned stone. The slabs were cantilevered in towards the centre, forming an arched supporting structure for a massive head. It was impossible to comprehend how the huge blocks of stone must have been laid in place, let alone carved to form the fleshy lips, broad nose and lidded eyes beneath the elaborate domed headdress that rose up to its pointed peak. Lush creepers sprouted from cracks and fissures in the stonework like unruly hair, while a patchwork of lichens gave the face a strangely lifelike hue: soft mossy greens colour-washed its eyelids, and a speckled array of blues and golds flushed its grainy sculpted cheeks.
Beyond, Maryam could see glimpses of a large complex of buildings, equally ornate and pocked with age. Without a word, they climbed down from the tree trunk and stepped in through the gateway to this other world.
They appeared to be standing at the edge of a sizeable plateau completely ringed by crumbling walls. Many of the smaller buildings that must once have filled the site were so degraded by weather and time that only remnants of their walls and rough foundations remained. Grasses, shrubs and bracken thrived amidst the crumbled terraces and jumbled piles of stone, providing homes for the many birds whose droppings splashed the ruined stonework with pungent streaks of white. Behind it all, the mountain rose as a perfect backdrop to the scene.
But it was the structure at the very centre of the complex that captured Maryam's eye and drew her towards it: an enormous square building, its corners four discrete towers, their vertical indented walls stepping up towards the heavens, each topped by a parapet which, in its turn, was further capped by a domed roof of stone. These were what they must have spotted from the boat. The blocks of stone that formed the outer walls had been chiselled to fashion vast reliefs peopled with innumerable tiny figures locked in time.
Maryam ran her hand along the pitted stone as it dawned on her that each individual panel told a kind of ancient tale. Some seemed to represent the lives of the people who must have lived here: boys and girls, men and women, many of them scantily clad apart from ornate jewellery and oddly styled hair. A number depicted great armies toting clubs and spears as they battled a series of nightmarish beasts. Others revealed the workings of strange rituals, all focused on the recurring image of a smooth-faced man who sat cross-legged in their midst, his hair caught in a topknot and his relaxed hands lying palm-upwards in his lap. There was a rare kind of serenity in each rendition of his face, while those pictured around him appeared to look on with awe. Was this their God?
Ruth had followed and was studying the carvings too. “I don't like the look of this,” she said, sweeping her arm to encompass the whole site. “No wonder the Lord struck them down. It's clear they worshipped heathen gods.”
Lazarus arrived now as well, and he snorted at Ruth's words. “What happened to the Lord's great capacity for forgiveness, huh?”
She rounded on him, hands on her hips. “You know the teachings just as well as I do. The Lord sent forth his Tribulation to rid the world of non-believers. Only the Apostles and their Chosen ones were saved.”
“Your head is so filled up with teachings—do you ever have an independent thought?”
Tears welled in Ruth's eyes. “If you'd all listened to me in the first place we wouldn't
find ourselves stuck here now. You knew there was nothing but death and destruction beyond our shores, and yet you chose to disbelieve…” She stormed off to the far end of the site.
“She has a point,” Maryam said. “It's obvious no one here survived.”
“You saw the map. You think that nowhere out there in the world others exist?”
Maryam shrugged. “I don't know. If we'd found people living here it might be different, but—”
“That proves nothing.” He kicked at a stray stone, sending it clattering across the ground. “Besides,” he said, inclining his head towards the mountain, “until we've searched the whole island we can't be sure.” He walked away from her. “Let's be off.”
She didn't argue. Instead, she jogged across to Ruth and squeezed her shoulders tight. “Let's find Joseph, then I promise we'll take the time to talk this through.”
Ruth nodded, misery etched across her face, but she allowed Maryam to guide her after Lazarus, who once again presumed to lead the way.
They circled around to the back of the great building, working their way through more disintegrating ruins until they reached the northernmost edge of the fragmented wall. Again, an ancient carved head atop a tiered stone portal seemed to watch them pass, as they came upon a narrow rocky track that wound up through the undergrowth and disappeared into the trees.
Their journey now was all uphill, the ground dry and unstable beneath their feet. The sun had risen higher in the sky, its heat growing oppressive despite the shade of the overhanging trees. Maryam cursed herself for not thinking to bring food or water. Somewhere up ahead, perhaps, they'd find a stream, but meanwhile she scanned the vegetation for something to eat. Eventually, through a thicket of scrubby trees, she spied the serpent-like air roots of a wild fig her people called te biku.
“Food!” she yelled, launching herself off the track towards the tree. She could see that it was fruiting, but many of the figs had already been picked over by scavenging birds. She searched around the thick sinewy roots at its base and collected the ripest of the windfalls, discarding those already pecked. By the time Ruth and Lazarus broke through the scrub to join her, she'd collected roughly a dozen of the leathery purple fruit and piled them together at her feet.
“Eat,” she said, tearing one open and biting into the moist pink flesh to suck every last scrap of the nourishing seed mass from its skin.
The other two fell hungrily upon the figs as well, and soon the pile was reduced to nothing more than discarded skins. The sweetness helped to boost their energy, and Lazarus climbed up into the tree's nest of branches to harvest another tasty load. He removed his shirt and cushioned the figs in its fabric before tying the improvised holdall around his waist.
As they set off up the track again, Maryam tried to concentrate on where she placed her feet on the rocky ground. But Lazarus's bared back distracted her, and she found herself watching how his shoulder blades rotated as he swung his arms. Then a funny thought struck her, and she laughed.
He spun around defensively. “Are you laughing at me?”
She couldn't stop; the joke seemed so apt she couldn't resist telling him, if only to prove she was not quite as dull-witted as he thought. She gestured at his naked chest. “Perhaps you should have picked some of the fig leaves too!”
She knew he'd understand—they were all far too steeped in the stories from the Holy Book not to recognise her reference to Adam and Eve.
A startled grin flashed across his face, transforming him for just a moment before he spun away. “Very funny,” he drawled, punishing her now for making fun of him by setting a much faster pace.
For another half an hour or so they toiled on, pausing only once when Lazarus glimpsed a large brown snake ahead and called a halt until it slithered off the track. It was the first living thing they'd seen, besides the insects and birds, and its presence was somehow comforting and strangely apt.
At last they heard the flow of water and deviated off the track to search for its source. A short distance into the undergrowth they found a stream, its water clear and refreshing to drink. All three downed handful after handful until their thirst was quenched.
“Can we rest a moment?” Maryam asked.
Lazarus merely nodded, untying his shirt and doling out the remaining figs. He plunged his shirt into the stream, wringing it only slightly before he dragged it back on. Maryam wished she, too, could strip away her sweat-soaked clothes to cool off, but there was no way she would consciously reveal herself to him. Instead, she made do with splashing water over her face and neck, allowing it to trickle down beneath her shirt.
She closed her eyes, listening to the gentle murmur of the stream. The sound was soothing, even cheering, in the face of her nagging concern for Joseph. Where was he? What if they'd somehow bypassed him and he'd returned to the boat to find them gone?
All at once a rhythmic thumping and scraping intruded on her thoughts. Her eyes sprang open just as Lazarus scrabbled to his feet and rummaged in the bushes until he found a sturdy stick. He raised it, ready for confrontation, and jerked his head to indicate the girls should stay put. Ruth clutched hold of Maryam's hand, her eyes wide and fearful as Lazarus stalked through the undergrowth towards the noise. It seemed to be coming from the track above, and Maryam's mind flashed images of the fierce-looking warriors depicted in the stone. What if the people of Marawa were now approaching, filing through the jungle with their sticks and spears?
She spied another fallen branch and seized it, all her peaceful intentions flung aside. If they were going to be attacked, it was not fair to expect Lazarus to bear the brunt of it alone. She crept after him, leaving Ruth to bring up the rear.
As Lazarus neared the border of the track he paused. He checked back over his shoulder, his face registering surprise when he discovered Maryam so close behind him, staff in hand. His brow furrowed as their eyes met—it was clear now there were footsteps thundering down the track towards them, and moving at alarming speed—yet he waited for her to join him before the two of them edged right up to the brink.
They could see uphill to where the track curved round a corner, following the contours of the terrain. The sound was so close now, Maryam knew at any moment they would be revealed. She held her breath, her pulse hammering in the base of her throat as she gripped the staff with both hands and raised it up defensively against her chest.
Then movement flashed into her vision—but it took her a panicked moment to register that it was Joseph hurtling down towards them. Lazarus laughed, lowering his staff as he stepped from the shelter of the trees, right into Joseph's path. “Cousin!” he called, his voice lifting with obvious relief.
Joseph's feet locked up, his expression switching from shock to alarm as his feet slid out from under him and he was launched into a skid that ended only when he crashed right into Lazarus, sending them both sprawling out across the track.
Both boys lay on the rocky ground in a knot of arms and legs. Maryam rushed over to offer Joseph her hand, taking in the heightened colour of his face and the mass of scrapes and grazes he'd sustained. But he ignored her, untangling himself from Lazarus before rising on shaky legs to brush away the dirt. Lazarus, too, was grazed, and he winced as he fingered an egg-sized lump on the back of his head.
By now Ruth had arrived as well. “Joseph!” she cried, “thank the Lord it was you!” She turned to Lazarus, who looked pale despite his sunburnt skin. “What happened?”
Lazarus grinned unconvincingly. “Nothing much. We just ran into Joseph here.”
“Crash might be a better word.” Maryam glanced at Joseph, hoping her attempt at humour might lighten the mood. But he showed no sign of having even heard. One of his knees was bleeding and his elbows looked swollen and raw. He refused to look at her, instead directing his words to Lazarus, who had sat down again to pick dirt and gravel from a seeping graze along his calf.
“I climbed right to the top—it's got the most amazing view, right out over the entire island.
”
“And?”
“The news is bad. It seems we really are alone.”
“I knew it,” Ruth cried out, stamping her foot. “We're worse off now than if we'd stayed.” Her chin started to wobble and Maryam knew she was close to tears.
Once again she wrapped her arm around Ruth's shoulders, feeling like all she ever did was try to temper Ruth's distress. But it served her right. She was the one who'd bullied Ruth into coming on the voyage in the first place, even if responsibility for the final act of coercion lay at Lazarus's feet. “At least we don't have to worry about being attacked,” she said, trying to keep her voice upbeat, though the combination of Ruth's constant anxiety and Joseph's blatant hostility made the effort almost impossible. She turned her head away as a tear escaped and tracked down her cheek; she wiped it on her shoulder with a self-disgusted shrug. A deep breath later, and she composed herself enough to fake indifference.
“Let's get you both back to the stream,” she said. “If you wash your grazes now to clean them up, I've already brewed some te buka leaves back at the boat that should help them heal.”
Lazarus rose to his feet and mumbled agreement, then limped back towards the stream as Joseph followed closely behind.
Ruth's gaze turned from the boys to Maryam. “What's going on? Joseph just cut you dead.”
Maryam sighed and shook her head. “I've ruined everything, Ruthie. I've shamed my family, put my friends in danger, dragged you to this awful place, and now Joseph—”
She looked at Joseph's retreating back and bit back a sob.
The humidity built to such intensity Maryam found it hard to see past the film of sweat that had dripped into her eyes. She wiped it clear and looked up to study the sky through the canopy of leaves. The sun was being strangled by a mass of ominous dark clouds.
Ahead, the boys limped downhill in single file. Joseph had steadfastly refused to engage with Maryam in any way. His rejection was so unyielding she had given up trying to breach it, falling instead into her own dark hole of wretchedness. Beside her, Ruth was brooding too. Maryam felt as if each of them harboured such a store of suppressed rage or hurt that at any moment it could erupt like rogue lightning and raze them all.
