Into the Wilderness: Blood of the Lamb (Book Two)

by Mandy Hager

  “No,” Maryam murmured, heat flooding up her neck. She busied herself collecting the ingredients for breakfast, leaving Ruth to make of her answer what she wished. The night had been too special—too private—to share even with her.

  “You didn't let him…touch you?”

  The unbridled disgust in Ruth's voice filled Maryam with shame. She understood Ruth's reaction but she knew Ruth would not believe she could strip Joseph, bathe him, and lie next to him for the whole night without committing some sinful act.

  “No. I stayed with him to give him comfort, that was all,” Maryam said, backing from the shelter. “I didn't want him to be alone.” She knew she sounded brusque and impatient but needed to cut off any further questions before Ruth pressed her into confessing something she'd misconstrue.

  “What about me? You didn't think that maybe I was lying here alone in need of comfort too? We're sailing off into the void…” Ruth shrugged, unable to finish her sentence. Her eyes filled with tears.

  Why was she the one who always had to consider others, Maryam wondered. Was she not allowed, for once, to indulge her own selfish needs? She sighed, immediately regretting such an uncharitable thought. Of course Ruth needed her as well: she was younger, and lost and frightened in an unknown world.

  “I'm sorry, Ruthie. I didn't mean to leave you feeling all alone. It's just I'm scared Joseph will die.” She hated having to say the words, worried that giving them voice might somehow make them real.

  Ruth's defensiveness relaxed a little. “Don't worry, we'll save him. I'm sure of that. If the Lord told you to continue on our journey till we find him help, then He will watch over Joseph and keep him safe until we do.”

  Maryam forced a confident smile. “I'm sure you're right. But look, we've a lot to do before we go. Can you help with breakfast?” She turned and quickly climbed down from the boat, desperate to draw the conversation to a close. There was nothing to be gained from it, and she hated holding back from Ruth.

  By the time they'd eaten the last soused remnants of Lazarus's fish, the red had faded from the sky, leaving them with the beginnings of an overcast day. Already the heat was so oppressive that Maryam found herself covered with sweat despite her early morning swim. There was a strange charged feel to the air, as if it had soaked up all their anxieties. But there was no turning back now: they had all agreed to carry on.

  They carefully extinguished the fire and packed the last of their belongings back into the boat. The plan was simple enough: Joseph would work the tiller while the other three ensured they made it safely through the passage in the reef. Lazarus and Ruth, much stronger than Maryam, untied the mooring ropes from the series of boulders and Maryam carefully coiled them on the deck. She prepared the small storm-sail, ready to raise it as soon as they had cleared the beach, then took up her position at the prow—directing the others as they manhandled the boat around in the shallow surf.

  As soon as she could feel the boat floating free, Maryam ran back to raise the sail. She felt the wind tug at the woven cloth as Ruth and Lazarus gave the boat one final shove towards the reef then leapt aboard, water spraying out around them as they hauled themselves onto the deck.

  Now Lazarus helped Maryam secure the sail, then the three of them took up their positions to help guide Joseph as he steered directly for the break. The tide was nearly at its zenith, and Maryam realised that the obstacles they'd encountered on their approach to the island were diminished by the increased depth of water under the boat. Accompanied by the reeling, shrieking host of birds, they made it out through the passage without a glitch, and soon found themselves sailing smoothly on the ocean's broad rolling back.

  Once the mainsail had been lifted and secured in place, they gathered together by the tiller to discuss their route. The direction of the wind was hard to gauge, the pennant strung from the big main mast flapping and curling in a confused dance. But long ribbons of cloud were travelling westwards with them, and so they pushed the boom of the big mainsail out to its farthest extreme, allowing the sail to balloon with air as they set a broad reach downwind, straight for the west.

  Joseph handed the tiller over to Maryam, taking himself off to the shelter to steal some rest. Ruth and Lazarus sat down next to her, shifting only when they were needed to adjust the ropes. As the boat skimmed the short chop, gliding effortlessly down the rounded peaks of swell, the undulation of the sea lulled each of them into an insular, meditative mood.

  By the time they'd been at sea two hours, Marawa Island once again appeared the stuff of dreams—a lush exotic backdrop that belied the death and destruction hidden at its core. How often she had found this true, Maryam thought—what looked good on the surface was rotten beneath.

  Behind them, the clouds had now formed into a murky bank. Its dense dark underbelly clung close to the horizon line while, perching on its brooding back, lighter wind-wracked cumulus boiled and tumbled in a knotted mass.

  Lazarus shook his head slowly as he studied the sky, his mouth pinching into a tight thin line. “We'd better keep an eye on that. If it gets any closer we'll have to haul down the sails.”

  “Perhaps we should head back for land?” Ruth offered, sounding briefly buoyed by the thought of a reprieve from this new voyage.

  It is tempting, Maryam thought. She'd have loved nothing more than to fly back to the safety of dry land. But they were making good progress across the sea, and to turn back now was to rob Joseph of what precious little life he may have left. “We have no time,” she said, surprised to find herself looking to Lazarus to back her up.

  He grunted, turning away from the looming storm clouds to meet Maryam's eye. “Let's tie down everything that could wash loose,” he said. “At least, then, if it does catch up, we'll be prepared.”

  “Good plan,” she said, wishing she had thought of this herself. “Ruthie, how about you take the tiller and I'll help secure the boat?”

  Ruth, her eyes growing wide with worry, shuffled over on her knees to take Maryam's place at the tiller as the other two began to lash the storm-sail to the outside of the shelter wall. Then, with the sturdiest of the ropes, they tied the shelter itself even more securely to the beams that formed the structure of the deck, all the while watching as the storm bank seemed to deepen and darken in the east, moving ever closer with alarming speed. Already it had consumed Marawa, shrouding it without a trace, and the wind that drove the clouds now raced ahead and started to cut up the sea.

  Between them, Maryam and Lazarus reefed in the main, reluctant to take it down completely in case they could still outrun the storm. The sky had emptied of birds, their incessant noise replaced by the creaking of the boat's timbers as it sliced its way through the increasingly sloppy chop.

  Disturbed by all the activity on deck, Joseph had now re-emerged from the shelter. He stood face on to the wind, holding tightly to the aft rail as he studied the steady build-up of the clouds. The light seemed to have been sucked from the sky, turning everything around them to a dull and chilling steely grey. Maryam finished tying off the last of her ropes and joined him at the rail.

  “Let's hope it passes over us as quickly as yesterday's rainstorm,” she said, covering his long white fingers with her own small brown hand. She huddled into him, and they swayed in unison as the wind stirred the sea and pitched the hulls.

  He flipped his hand over and wove his fingers in through hers. “I fear it could be much, much worse.”

  She did not bother questioning his judgement—born and raised on an island in the middle of the vast ocean, all of them knew how to read the skies. She, too, knew the signs were very bad.

  “You must stay inside the shelter once the weather strikes,” she told him. “The last thing you need right now is to worsen your chill.”

  “That's ridiculous,” he said. “You'll need me if the sea gets rough.”

  “Maryam's right,” Ruth broke in. “Between the three of us I'm sure we'll cope.” Her tone belied her words; she sounded tremulous and very
young.

  Now Lazarus joined them at the aft rail as well. “You must make sure you keep dry,” he said to Joseph, punching him playfully on the arm. “You're wet enough without another dunking from the skies!”

  Joseph blushed. “I thought I'd left my mother behind,” he countered, trying to smile. But, standing so close to him, Maryam could see how his reference to his mother saddened him. His chin quivered as he fought to get his feelings for her back under control.

  His dignity was saved by an unexpected gust that squalled across the water, throwing spray up in its path as it whipped the tops off the choppy waves and slammed directly into the stern. As the wind hit the sail, the whole boat heeled dramatically to port, pitching the four off-balance and leaving them scrabbling for footing. “Quick,” Lazarus cried to Joseph, “for the love of the Lord get back into the shelter now.”

  Joseph reached for Maryam, blatantly kissing her on the lips right there in front of Lazarus and Ruth, before he made his way back to the shelter—the angry hunch of his shoulders leaving none of them in any doubt of his displeasure at being relegated back inside.

  Maryam had no time to worry about the others’ response, as another squall raced across the sea towards them. Already she was pushing Ruth aside from her position at the helm, making ready to counter the force of the wind as it hit the boat and pitched it like a child's toy. She gripped the smooth wooden tiller with both hands, using the full weight of her body to hold it to its course, while Lazarus shouted curt instructions to Ruth as they tried to stabilise the flapping sail.

  These two vicious squalls turned out to be the first harbingers of the storm itself. The sky was now a solid mass of black, the clouds swarming so close above their heads it felt as if the whole roof of the world was caving in and pressing down on them. And the waves it pushed at them were huge and angry, licking up against the hulls as though they would swallow them whole.

  As Ruth and Lazarus struggled to bring down the main and raise the storm-sail, another wave hit them full force. Water crashed over Maryam and Ruth fell heavily, her head barely missing the solid wooden mast.

  “Are you all right?” Maryam yelled, her heart rapping out messages of warning from her chest. They had no help, no one to tell them what to do, if one of them was badly injured.

  Ruth rose gingerly, fighting the ever-increasing see-saw of the boat. Her teeth had slammed into her bottom lip, blood trickling down her chin. She wiped it away roughly, working her way over to the shelter at the centre of the boat. “Extra ropes,” she cried to Joseph, snatching them from his hands the moment he offered them up. “Here,” she said to Lazarus, throwing him one of the ropes. “Tie yourself to the boat.” She flung a second rope at Maryam. “You do the same.” She secured the third around her own waist with shaky hands, lashing it to the base of the mast as best she could.

  “Good thinking,” Lazarus called, and Maryam saw a brief flash of pleasure light Ruth's frightened face.

  And it was a good idea: the instant Maryam secured herself to the boat she felt again more in control, freed at least of the fear of being swept overboard. But lightning was crackling overhead and the doleful roll of thunder seemed to vibrate right through her. And to make matters worse, stinging rain began to fall. She hunkered her head down into her shoulders, silently cursing every time another wave washed over her and down her neck.

  Up at the mast, Lazarus and Ruth were struggling to change the sails. They fought hard to bring the main down, but the wind caught the thick woven sheet and tore it from Lazarus's grip. It billowed out again, filled with violent air, then, with a sickening retort, it ripped away from its bindings, shredding itself on the side rails before it plunged into the sea.

  Lazarus threw himself towards the edge, desperately trying to catch hold of the sail before it sank beneath the waves. His lifeline was stretched to full measure as he slithered under the side-rail and hung down into the frothing wake.

  “Lazarus, no!” Maryam screamed at him. This was total foolishness—one rogue wave and the rope surely wouldn't hold. It was one thing to rely on their ropes to secure them while still on deck, but leaning out over the sea like that, Lazarus tempted fate.

  Ruth must have had the same thought, for she lurched over towards him and grabbed him roughly by his feet, hauling him backwards despite his loud and furious demands that she leave him be.

  “Get your hands off me, you stupid girl. Without this sail we're lost.”

  “Forget it,” Ruth screeched back at him, reeling him in with the rope. “Better a sail lost than someone's life.” She was strong, Ruth, and stubborn when she set her mind to it, and Maryam could only watch with admiration as she put all her effort into dragging Lazarus back aboard.

  Meantime, the sail filled with water and disappeared beneath the foamy surface of the sea.

  “Damn you!” Lazarus cried, scrabbling back up to his feet. He raised his face to the heavens, closing his eyes against the hard pellets of rain. “Damn you to Hell.”

  This was too much for Ruth. She sprang at him and slapped his face. “Never, ever curse the Lord like that again. We need Him now to keep us safe. I will not let you risk our lives.”

  Maryam might have laughed had she not been so preoccupied—Lazarus had clearly never seen Ruth so riled before, protecting her Lord's good reputation like a distraught mother would her child. He made to swing back at her, but the boat was floundering now without a scrap of sail to steady its progress, and he was tossed away, crashing against the denuded mast.

  “You'll keep,” he finally managed to spit at Ruth, rubbing his shoulder before he shrugged and began collecting up the storm-sail, keeping it tucked in the lee of his torso as he struggled to lash it to the mast.

  “What on earth is going on?” It was Joseph, emerging from the shelter. Maryam could hardly hear him above the noise: the wind, the rain, the groaning timbers of the boat, the clash of thunder from the skies.

  “We lost a sail,” Maryam yelled back, using every scrap of air inside her lungs to reach his ears. She motioned him to stay inside, but he was standing now, steadying himself against the roof of the shelter.

  Ruth was helping Lazarus raise the storm-sail, their tiff put aside as they wrestled to stay upright while the wind increased and the waves built. Above them a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed only seconds later by a clap of thunder so prolonged and deafening that all four ducked as if they feared the sky would shatter and fall.

  The next hour became one long fight for survival, as the wind screamed in the rigging and the swells became virtual mountains, the boat surfing—out of control—down their sides. Deep in the troughs, it seemed the waves behind would break right over the top of the boat, reaching out for them with icy spray. Never in her life had Maryam felt so terrified. The storm-sail strained against its ropes, the boom swinging and jolting as the hulls crashed from trough to trough. Timbers groaned and cracked, lashings stretched to breaking point, and all the four could do was hold on to the railings with all their might. No one spoke now; each was locked in a private nightmare fight as the black clouds intensified overhead, turning day to gloomy night. The deck was awash, making the timber treacherous and slippery, and it was almost impossible to stay upright as the bucking hulls were jostled forward on the surge of sea.

  The soaked crew huddled together by the tiller, clutching onto each other for support while Ruth prayed aloud. She turned her head to look behind, and let out a terrified wail just as Maryam, too, saw the great wall of water that rose above them, its crest taller than the main mast at its peak. Time froze in that one instant just before the wave was set to break, looming over them like an enormous building, and before the boat began its frantic scramble up the next swell. But, as it broke, the last of the wall of water caught them, crashing down with such force Maryam feared she'd drown in it and would never again break free to air. Inside the tumble of confused sea they held on to each other by sheer force of will, fingers digging into arms and legs to hold them s
afe.

  When at last she burst free of its fury, Maryam saw the damage the wave had wrought. The pandanus thatching of the shelter was almost entirely torn to shreds, and flapped precariously now in the roaring winds. And the storm-sail, their one means of forward momentum, had been ripped clean away from the mast and trailed in the water in the gap between the hulls.

  Joseph lunged as though to rescue it, but Maryam threw herself after him, holding him back.

  “Leave it,” she cried out to him. “You're not tied down.” Her voice was whipped away by the wind almost as soon as it left her throat, yet there was no doubting her intent.

  He turned to her, his face so pale his colour reflected the surface of the foam-washed sea. Consumed by white water, the sea itself almost mirrored the cloudy boiling of the sky while, in the small patches between the spray and foam, the depths were black as night. He called back to her, but his words did not have the power to break above the howling wind.

  Then Lazarus was edging on hands and knees towards the fraying sail. Twice he was thrown onto his stomach by the pitching boat before he managed to reach the spot where the sail dragged. It was held by barely a thread and, as he tried to haul it in, the last rope snapped, sending it—their final remaining hope—down to the ocean's depths. Maryam and Joseph together fought to work the tiller, trying to gain some kind—any kind—of steerage or control. But it was impossible: the force of the water was so ferocious Maryam feared if they pushed it any harder the tiller, too, would break. Tears of fury and exhaustion in equal measure welled up in her.

  Just as Lazarus crawled back to join them, Maryam glanced past him off to starboard, and now it was her turn to scream. A towering spout of water had been whipped up from the sea and was racing beside them. She had seen such things before from the safety of the atoll's shores, and old Hushai had warned her of their danger in the days leading up to her escape.

  “Into the shelter!” she yelled, pointing to the pulsing, unearthly, spiralling umbilical cord of condensed wind and sea.