The Crossing (11 page)

“Yes, Hushai.” She waited as he ran his fingers down her face. “I'm sorry that I caused you trouble over Sarah,” she whispered and she fumbled with the bag around her waist. She had split the powder into two separate lots and now pressed the larger portion into his hand. “I have some te kabubu powder to share with you. Brother Mark told me they cut back your food.”

“Thank you child, that is very thoughtful.” He tucked the bag deep in his pocket. “Mark has told me of your plan. I know I cannot stop you but at least pay heed to what I say.”

He pulled her into his room and gently shut the door. “Before the Tribulation, when our ancestors lived on Onewēre peacefully, they used to sail between the islands. When the Tribulation was sent down there followed many years of violent and lethal storms. Many tried to leave Onewēre but few returned. And those who did talked of a world where disease and pestilence and bitter battles waged destruction, and ungodly forces razed the land.”

He sighed, tears rising in his unseeing eyes as though he spoke of pains inflicted recently. “As time went by and the Apostles spread their Holy light, some still attempted to resist the Lord's Chosen ones and tried to flee. To my knowledge none succeeded, and the Apostles, in their wisdom, sought out all the sailing crafts and destroyed them to prevent more deaths, and
keep His people close at hand. To this day, as you well know, no one is allowed to raise a sail. To do so is strictly forbidden.”

“How do you know all this?” Maryam asked. The tales Mother Elizabeth had recounted to them as they grew up warned only of a gaping void, outside the safety of the reef, that plunged all disbelievers straight to Hell. Never had she heard even the faintest whisper that there might be some who tried to leave—or somewhere they could try to go. And, truth be told, until now, it had not entered her mind that it was even possible. They were the only ones the Lord had spared from the Tribulation and that was that.

“It is a strange thing, little one. They seem to think that because I cannot see with my blind eyes I also cannot hear or think. Much has been revealed within my presence over the years, but I've kept their confidences to myself—till now.”

“Why now?”

“More and more I'm called on to mop up evidence of practices I do not like. I did not know the exact details of the blood-letting—although, Lord forgive me, I had my suspicions—but I have known too many of your Sisters pass as Sarah did, or die in the act of childbirth, or just disappear. When I was young there were many who lived long, happy lives here serving the Lord. Today there is a plague far more deadly than Te Matee Iai sweeping our shores.”

His words tolled out harshly in the darkened room and Maryam shuddered. “But how does what you tell me help? There is no place for me to run so I am doomed: is that what you're trying to say?”

The old man chuckled and patted her arm. “What I'm trying to say is that you should question everything—just as
you are doing now. Even our ancestors were not exempt from craving power; it is a weakness that whispers in the minds of all men. I want you to remember that where there is one deception there may well be others.”

“But why then—”

“Please, enough of talking now. There is no time. Mark is waiting and before you go, I have someone down the corridor you'll want to see.”

Maryam's heart skipped a beat. “Please tell me it is Sister Ruth.”

He smiled, his teeth glowing white through the gloom. “She sleeps from the toddy, but will rouse a little if you speak.” He reopened the door and guided her back down the corridor, to the room where she had first been examined weeks ago.

Inside, Ruth lay unmoving on the bed. A candle flickered on the bench and lit her blood-smeared face. Maryam rushed over and wrapped her arms around the familiar sleeping form. “Has she had the internal examination yet?” she asked Hushai.

“Yes,” he answered, taking a wash cloth from a bowl and handing it to Maryam to wipe the goat's blood from Ruth's face. “I have not had a chance to wash her down. Do it now, but make it quick.”

As Maryam began to wipe away the dry blood Ruth coughed and stirred. She opened her eyes and sent Maryam a groggy smile. “Hello.”

“Dearest Ruth, are you all right?” Maryam struggled with her own raw memories of the crimes that took place in this room. How she'd ached for the Mothers to show simple care. She collected Ruth up in her arms and hugged her carefully, aware that she would be tender and bruised, and nearly breaking
down herself when Ruth started to sob quietly into the nape of her neck. “It's okay, Ruthie, it's good to cry.” For the first time since she could remember, the gap between their ages seemed immense and all that she had learnt and experienced made her feel jaded.

But Ruth surprised her, taking in a deep shuddering breath and swallowing her sobs back down. “It's all right, Maryam. I will be fine.” She drew back and rested her head on the pillow, her lovely black hair fanning out like seaweed around her.

“The ceremony,” Maryam said. “How did you survive?”

Ruth's fledgling smile fell away. “I admit that I was shamed. But you had warned me so I knew it was part of the ritual and not something that I had done. That helped.” Her eyelids fluttered as she fought the aftereffects of the toddy. “But I could not refuse the drink and it knocked me out.”

Maryam drew in a breath, wondering how to frame the next question. “Did they—do you—remember an…examination…in this room?”

Ruth looked puzzled. “No.” Her brows knitted together as she tried to dredge up memories. “I remember drinking the toddy Father Joshua gave me…then the next thing I remember I was here, and a Mother who I didn't know was sitting near.” She smiled. “She seemed very friendly—told me I was picked out for a special Blessing.” Her face lit up like the sun. “Can you imagine it, Maryam? I am to be married to the Lamb!”

Maryam's heart sank. So Ruth's body was to be possessed by those whose only motivation was to breed more stock. She leaned in close, now whispering frantically as precious seconds ticked by. “It is not as they have told you, Ruth. There is much here that is plainly wrong.”

“That's ridiculous. This is the Holy City.”

“I can't explain it all to you right now. There's little time. I'm going ashore tonight, and I want you to come with me so you'll be safe.”

Ruth started to laugh, but when she realised Maryam was serious her laughter died. “But why, Maryam? What you are suggesting is totally mad.”

From the doorway, Hushai called softly. “Come, little Sister, it is time to go.”

Maryam swung toward him, desperation lighting her eyes. “But I cannot leave her here. They have marked her as ready to breed.”

“Breed?” Ruth broke in. “What talk is this?”

Hushai entered and gently took Maryam's arm. He lowered his head and spoke quietly, for her ears alone. “This one is very sweet and pure. You will not shift her from her faith.”

“But I cannot just desert her.”

“If they take more blood and then you die, you have not helped her either. Go now, and I'll watch over her.”

“But—”

“Say your goodbyes. There is one more who you have to see.”

“One more?”

Hushai sighed. “Say your goodbyes.”

Maryam could read as little in his face as he could see from sight alone. This was not as she had planned. To leave Ruth here—that really hurt. But she understood there was no choice. Careful not to hurt her further, Maryam clasped her close. “I will come back for you, Ruthie. Wait for me and don't despair.” She kissed her friend on each cheek and forced herself to pull away. “In the meantime you can trust Hushai and Brother Mark.”

Ruth did not answer; she just watched her leave with such a look of puzzlement and hurt that Maryam wished she hadn't even tried to explain. Ruth could see no evil in others' hearts, because she had none in her own.

Once outside, Hushai guided her to another door. “This one asked to speak with you and would not rest until I promised to make it so.”

Maryam's stomach flipped. Had Hushai and Mark tricked her and arranged an ambush beyond the door? She looked into the old man's face and, despite the fact his eyes were blind, he seemed to be studying her just as intensely. But there was nothing in his face that seemed deceitful or unkind. Then it struck her. “Joseph?” Hushai nodded. “Then let me leave. I have nothing more to say to him. If he was so desperate to speak with me, he had all day.”

“That he did not, child. In fact, I administered toddy and insisted that he sleep. His health is extremely frail, and he sat up all night with Sister Sarah, only agreeing to leave her side when she had passed.”

This struck Maryam like a slap. He had stayed? She felt shame flaring up her cheeks. Without another word she cracked open the door. The room was dark, but she could see a body curled up on a narrow bed. “Brother Joseph?”

He roused with a sharp intake of breath, lunging up and swinging his feet straight to the floor. But the movement dizzied him, and he clutched the mattress for support. “Sorry, I was fast asleep.”

Maryam inched forward, until she could make out the features of his face. “Thank you for staying with Sarah.” A knot formed in her throat, picturing their silent vigil on the deck as the sun rose on Sarah's last day.

Even in the dimness of the room he looked almost transparently pale. “I'm sorry we didn't speak today. Please tell me everything you know.”

“I'm sorry, too. But I cannot stay and talk now. I have to go.”

“Tomorrow then?”

She shrugged, reluctant to trust him with her plan. “I have to go.” She quickly backed out of the room and turned to Hushai outside the door. “Thank you, Hushai, for all your help.”

Hushai took her hand in his. “Travel safely, my little one. I am sure Sister Sarah's journey back to the Lord will be aided by the knowledge that her family grieves her loss.”

Maryam hugged him, part of her wanting to stay close to his comforting presence, but the night was calling her now. She made her way to the outside deck, where the door was wedged open to ease her escape. Outside, the air was crisp and fresh and carried up the fishy smell of kelp upon the shifting breeze. Brother Mark stood silhouetted against the night sky, his gaze directed at the outline of Onewēre's rugged mountains, dark as they were against the backdrop of sparkling stars.

“I am sorry to be late,” she said, as he turned to acknowledge her. “I am ready now.”

He took the end of a long heavy rope, its girth as wide as her forearm, and tied a loop. “I will wait for you to return this time tomorrow night—and if not then, I will wait the next night too,” he told her. “I only pray you can evade capture until that time.”

Maryam reached out and took the offered loop, finally revealing the secret that she had kindled throughout the day and that burned now like a fiery torch inside her heart. “If I find my family I will not come back.”

Brother Mark snorted as he helped her pull the loop over her head and settle it under her arms. “You think they will protect you?”

“They are my family. They will not want to see me die.”

“You are sadly mistaken, Sister. The people of this island will not disobey Father Joshua. You are foolish not to see this risk.”

“I will help her,” Joseph's voice cut in. He stepped across the threshold and approached. He turned to Maryam and smiled. “I'll come with you.”

“No!” If the villagers were likely to be suspicious of another brown-skinned girl, how would they react to an Apostle's son? “I go alone.” She walked to the edge of the deck and faced Brother Mark. “Lower me now.”

Brother Mark showed her how to hold the rope so it would not cut into her chest and braced himself to take her weight as she backed up toward the gap between the handrails and leaned right out over the precipice.

For a moment, hanging there with the causeway far below, she doubted she could do it. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she could no longer hear the sea. But then, with Sarah's face in her mind, she launched herself backward with her legs and dropped.

She seemed to freefall at first and panicked until she felt the jerking tension that reassured her Brother Mark had finally controlled the rope. She bounced her feet down the hull, close to the powdery rust that flowered there, and dared not think about the void until, quite suddenly, the causeway rose under her feet.

As quickly as possible now, fearing someone would see her from the ship, she untangled herself from the rope and stepped
away. Instantly the rope started trailing back up the hull as Brother Mark reeled it back in. And then she was running, the chilly night air searing her lungs as her slippered feet thudded toward land.

Halfway she was forced to stop and fight for breath. Not to be able to run further, when weeks ago she and Ruth had raced nearly the full circumference of the atoll, hit her hard. She would have to pace herself more carefully, if she was to reach Aneaba before light.

She twisted around to look toward the ship. Something was not right. The rope had descended again, and someone was detaching from it and heading her way. Her breath quickened again and she prepared to flee. Had they detected her already? Had someone betrayed her?

But no. She saw the figure clearly now. Joseph hobbled along the causeway, making straight for her.

With nothing to conceal her on the causeway, Maryam turned her back on Joseph and jogged the rest of the distance to the shore. What did he think he was doing, doubling her chances of being detected and guaranteed to slow her down? She had to bite back the urge to yell at him to go away: all this would achieve was to carry her predicament upon the breeze to others' ears. But he was gutsy and stubborn, she acknowledged, and once she reached dry land she felt obliged to slip into the shadow of a coconut palm to wait for him to catch her up.

She closed her eyes, revelling in the pleasure of the familiar warm coral sand under her feet and the island air at midnight. The sooty aroma of the night's cooking fires underpinned the tangy mix of sea and kelp, and she was enveloped in the musky fragrance of hibiscus flowers that grew nearby. She drank in the scents, longing for her old life upon the atoll. Everything had seemed so simple then, with her route laid out for her and no real cause for fear.

Instead, all she had discovered was betrayal—and right now it seemed that the biggest traitor of them all was the Lord Himself. She had gifted Him her life, had laid her trust in Him and His Apostles and now, when she most needed Him, He turned away. But perhaps she had not tried hard enough to connect with Him these past few days?

She began to whisper a prayer she had first learnt as a child, and that Father Joshua used each day to end the blessing. “
Father, I abandon myself into your hands; do with me what you
will…I wish no more than this, oh Lord—
” But the words stuck in her throat. How could she not have seen that this prayer handed Father Joshua the power to do whatever he desired? That all the talk of service referred not to the Lord who was their Father but to this man?

Joseph's frail figure, meanwhile, took shape against the pale backdrop of the ship. He was taller than her by three hand spans and Maryam could see, in the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles in his legs, the ghost of the fit young man he must have been. She wondered how long he had known Te Matee Iai stalked him. But pity did not stop her from feeling angry that his interference now held up her plan.

Stepping onto the shore he called to her, scanning the dark foliage. “Sister Maryam, are you here?”

She was tempted not to answer. But he had followed her intent on helping, and she could not turn away without first exchanging a few words. She stepped out from the shadow of the palm.

“I am here.”

His head lowered like that of a dog that knew it had done wrong. “I couldn't let you go alone.”

“Why not?” She did not mean to sound quite so impatient, but she really just wanted to go.

“What will happen to my supply of blood if you are gone?”

Her jaw dropped in horror and she was ready to flay him with her outrage, when she saw the grin that lit his face.

“Got you!” he laughed, and began to walk along the palm line toward the south. “Are you coming,” he asked, “or will you just stand there catching moths?”

“Pig,” she retorted, pushing past him to take the lead.
But she couldn't help grinning back. It seemed a long time since she'd shared a joke and it pleased her, even if it was at her expense.

They skirted the sleeping village in silence, keeping a wary eye out for the mangy dogs and chickens they might well disturb. In the distance she could hear the village goats snort and bleat, and the snuffling of the ever-hungry native pigs. As they passed the last occupied hut, Joseph suddenly veered off toward a cooking fire and drew a smouldering stick from it.

“For light,” he mouthed.

Maryam nodded, mentally kicking herself for not having thought of this. Only once they'd passed the last signs of occupation did she relax, and she slowed a little now, thankful for rest. Joseph kept steadfastly striding forward, and she watched the determined way he took each step—as though he had to will each one.

“You should not be doing this,” she quietly called out to him. “You really do not have the strength.”

He shrugged, continuing forward. “Nor you,” he replied. “But if you think I'm going to stay there, now I know what's happening, then you're very wrong.” His voice shook with passion.

Maryam caught him up, and together they entered the lush coastal jungle, rather than risk the maze of mangroves along the coastal route. Around them, night creatures registered their passing in subtle undertones of chirps and squeaks. They slowed again to allow their eyes to adjust to the gloom, the night's ambient light now muted by the thick canopy of leaves.

“How is it that you never knew what was really going on?” she asked, as Joseph handed her the glowing stick. “Surely it is plain?”

He snapped a sturdy branch off a tree and tightly bound dry
bracken around one end. “That's true enough,” he responded. “But I wasn't raised aboard the ship.” He retrieved the lighting stick and nudged it up against the bracken wick, blowing softly until it flared.

His admission was news to Maryam. She knew that some Apostles spent time in outlying settlements to tend the villagers' spiritual needs, but she'd thought they returned frequently to the Holy City. Did distance, however, excuse turning one's back on wrong?

“Your father was still an Apostle.” She could not prevent bitterness leaking into her voice.

“My father,” Joseph bit back, “was a good man.” He strode on ahead of her, his back blocking her path. But this extra exertion did not last: he stumbled over a trailing root and slowed, finally leaning on an upturned palm trunk to rest.

Maryam stopped beside him, first brushing the mossy trunk to clear it of the myriad tiny bugs that made their home there. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to speak ill of your father. Tell me something of your life.” Now that she had asked him she was keen to know. Her own life had been so simple, so happy, when she was young—but she had no real comprehension of how others lived.

Joseph took a ripe banana from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here, eat this.” He rose again, barely concealing a groan. “Come on,” he said. “It's important to reach Aneaba before light.”

“Are you sure you're up to this?” Up close the torchlight accentuated just how pale he was. It frightened her. “You really should be resting.”

“For what?” He shrugged and jerked his head toward the track. “Let's go.” He took her hand, his fingers cold against her own.

At first she was taken aback. But no warning bells rang out inside her gut; instead, the two settled into a companionable silence as they walked. Above them fruit bats swooped and dived amid the canopy of palms, while below nocturnal frogs formed a moving carpet as they retreated from the light.

“So,” she said, breaking the reverie, “where were you raised?”

“I was born on the ship,” he admitted. “But my father had an argument with his older brother Joshua. He and Mother left the ship and moved to a small house near Motirawa, along the coast from Aneaba.”

“What was it they fought about?”

He turned to her. “Can't you guess?” He dropped her hand to scratch his nose and Maryam felt the loss of contact as a small lurch inside her. “All he ever told me was that Uncle Joshua had lost sight of the Lord's basic laws.” He laughed. “I told my cousin Laz that once—he beat me up.”

“He's very like his father,” Maryam said.

“He's not so bad, once you get him by himself.” 

Maryam could not help herself. “I'd rather be dead.”

Joseph's eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I have seen the way your cousin treats female servers first hand…let's just say it isn't nice.” She found she was reluctant to reveal the extent of Lazarus's behaviour to Joseph. They were cousins, after all.

But Joseph didn't miss a thing. “He didn't—hurt—you, did he?” He kicked a fallen coconut from their path, swiping at it as if it were Lazarus's head.

“No.” She felt herself blushing, wondering whether Joseph conjured in his head the same sinful pictures as she did in hers. “But I have seen a cruel and ruthless streak in him that scares me.”

Joseph nodded. “You know, when we were young—before we understood the workings of the world—you could not have found a nicer friend. But when Uncle Joshua insisted that he train his only son to take over as the Holy Father, Lazarus got all screwed up. It's like there's this ball of anger building up inside him.”

Maryam could find no pity for Lazarus. “What has he got to be angry about? He is free to do whatever he wants.”
And to hurt whoever he likes
, she thought, but did not add.

“To tell you the truth I'm not too sure. Since my father fell ill I've had little time to dwell on much else.”

The sadness in his voice flew like a wraith between them. Maryam reached out her hand and brushed it lightly across his arm. “How is your mother?” she asked, thinking of the distraught woman who had thrown herself upon her husband's shrouded corpse.

“Very bad.”

She could not see Joseph's face—he had turned away—but she could tell he was crying from the watery waver in his voice.

“She and my uncle had a terrible argument just before my father died. He wanted Father to return to the Holy City with him but Father refused. My uncle thought Mother should have forced him—now he blames her for Father's death.”

“Did he—” Maryam stopped for a moment, trying to think how to frame her words. The Apostles never died from Te Matee Iai because they stole the Sisters' blood. So had Joseph's father never taken it?

“No,” Joseph answered, guessing where her mind had gone. “If he knew of the blood-letting then he'd never have allowed it in his name—of that I'm sure.” He looked directly at her now,
his wet eyes glistening in the torchlight. “He taught me we are all equal in the Lord's eyes. He'd never take the life of another to save his own.”

“And yet…” Again Maryam dared not finish her thought aloud.

“I swear to you I didn't know,” Joseph said. “My mother went so crazy after Father's death she made me promise to let Aunt Lilith heal me. They never told me what that meant—just pumped me full of toddy till I knew no more.”

Ahead of them, the path began its winding ascent through the rocky hills they had to cross to reach the island's southern shore. It was a much less frequented path and more difficult to negotiate than the coastal route, but more direct and safer than crossing through the mangroves, which were tidal and really only safe to traverse during the day. Besides, the two were far less likely to be spotted here than on the track between the villages that hemmed the coast.

The jungle plants seemed to close ranks around them, the air hanging humid and moist as Maryam and Joseph passed. Now they struggled to find their footing through the crumbling volcanic rock, Joseph hampered by the need to hold the torch. Maryam cursed her choice of footwear—she had thought no further than the causeway, where her slippered steps would fall more quietly. Here, though, the shards of rock stabbed at her feet.

Before long she and Joseph were panting, and the pockets of dizziness Maryam had experienced after the blood-letting returned. The path narrowed to a natural staircase, formed by rifts between the rocks. Joseph clambered over each new obstacle before offering his hand to Maryam to help haul her
up. Her legs were not as long as his: she felt the muscles in her thighs stretch and complain, until they quivered uncontrollably every time she called on them to support her weight.

The hiss of running water pulled them forward as they neared the top. One more bend and a small, furious waterfall took shape before them, its jet of aerated water luminous white against the rock. Joseph leaned in toward its spray, letting it cool him, and Maryam soon joined him, desperate for respite from the cloying sweat that drenched her. She stuck out her tongue, startling at the force of the droplets, like a horde of tiny stinging barbs. But they quenched her thirst.

Below the waterfall the stream ran down through mossy rocks. Maryam edged her way to one particularly large flat rock and lowered herself onto it, releasing her hot bruised feet into the cool water with a thankful sigh. Joseph joined her, planting the torch into the ground before tearing off his sandals and plunging his feet in as well. He groaned, collapsing backward to lie on the rock, his chest heaving.

“It's getting light,” he wheezed, pointing at the hint of light in the sky.

Maryam followed the direction of his gaze. “Only another hour till dawn, I'd guess.” She listened to Joseph's laboured breathing, worried at this exertion. Te Matee Iai fed insatiably upon weakness. The thought of him succumbing to its grasp pained her more than she'd have guessed. There was something in his openness—his decent spirit—that she'd warmed to.

She removed the small remaining bag of te kabubu powder from around her waist, scooping out a handful and cupping it in the palm of her right hand as, with her left, she reached down into the stream and scooped a little water up. This she trickled
into the powder, mixing it into a thick ball of paste with her index finger before offering it to Joseph. “Here. Eat some te kabubu to give you strength.”