The Crossing (12 page)

He raised himself on one elbow, taking the food without a word and cautiously tasting it. “Not bad,” he mumbled through a second mouthful, as Maryam formed another ball of paste.

“I mixed in a little tioka pollen with the powder to make it sweet.” She bit into her own paste ball, surprised herself by how the mellow sweetness made the chalky powder palatable.

For a moment she closed her eyes, imagining the instant when she would finally make contact with her birth family—the surprise and joy in her mother's eyes; the warmth of her father's embrace.

Behind them, from the track, the sound of movement jolted both of them from their private thoughts. Maryam's heart beat so fast she could feel it in her throat. Had they been followed? Her panicked eyes met those of Joseph, who uprooted the fire-torch and plunged it into the stream to extinguish it. He pressed a finger to his lips and soundlessly stood, offering his hand to pull her upright. Searching for a place to hide, Maryam saw it, a narrow cave behind the waterfall's fast flow, cut into the rock from centuries of water passing by at force. She pointed, already scoping rocks and stones to guide them through the torrent. Joseph nodded and they fled across as, below them, the snapping of twigs and scrape of foot on rock drew closer to the spot where they had stood.

The spray of water soaked their clothes and streamed into their eyes and ears. The cave was barely wide enough for both of them to squeeze inside and they had to press against each other to fit into the rocky cleft. Maryam could feel the rise and fall
of Joseph's back as he breathed, his body hot against her skin where they touched. All they could do now was wait.

Then, through the spray, she saw a squat shape break from the trees and head straight for the waterfall. Crouched low, whoever it was stopped exactly where only moments ago she and Joseph had lain. Then, to her utter confusion, Joseph started to laugh, his body shaking against her and his breath hot on her face as he twisted around to her. “It's only a wild boar!”

It was true. The boar was huge, at least as heavy as a grown man and twice as broad. Its curved tusks glowed against the coarse hair that framed its mammoth head and, although Maryam was relieved that their pursuer was not human, she was glad not to have come face to face with this monster all the same. Relief bubbled up inside her and she laughed, too, forgetting their cramped conditions until she swung her head and her ear slammed into jagged rock. She cried out, instantly feeling the pain and the ooze of blood.

“What happened?” Joseph yelled, unable to turn any further.

“I hit the rock,” she whimpered, her ear burning and head buzzing. For a moment she thought she would be sick.

Beyond the cave, the boar drank from the stream then ambled back down the track. Immediately it was gone and Joseph extricated himself from the rock and guided Maryam to the bank, helped by the lightening sky. She clutched her ear, blood pooling in her hand. Joseph struggled out of his wet shirt, dipping it into the stream before gently dabbing the wound.

“Curse dousing the torch,” he muttered, peering at the side of her head.

“How's it looking?” Maryam asked, her voice seeming to come from far away.

“Not too good,” he admitted in a shaky voice. “I think it's nearly sliced right through the top half of your ear.” Already, the blood welled up again and he pressed the shirt against her head and held it tight.

Maryam took a few deep breaths to calm herself. They were still a good two hours from Aneaba and soon their absence would be noted on the ship. But they'd come this far, and she was not about to give up now. “If we rip your shirt into strips and bind it tight,” she ventured, “I think I can survive for now.” She fought back tears, determined to get going again.

“Good plan.” Joseph tore wildly at his shirt, until it lay about them in tattered strips.

Meanwhile, through the gloom Maryam scoured the banks for mossy clumps and was relieved to spot one a little further down the stream. “Praise be,” she muttered, thankful to Mother Evodia for her lessons on herbal healing. She pointed to the spongy plant. “Could you pick some of that tabunea moss?” she asked. “It will help clot the blood and should ward off infection, with any luck.” She felt a little better now, having found something to focus on beyond the pain. “Squeeze out any water and then pack it tight under the strips.”

Joseph nodded, quickly collecting the moss and applying it. He knotted the strips of shirt together with shaking hands, winding them tightly around her head and apologising every time she winced. By the time he'd finished, both of them were in need of rest. But the day was marching forward now: the broad fingers of dawn had reached up above the treeline to light the entire sky.

Joseph pulled Maryam gently to her feet. “Are you able to go on?”

She looked at him, registering now his lack of shirt. Wisps of golden hair dusted his chest and she felt an overwhelming desire to place her hand there and smooth them down. “I'll be fine,” she promised.

As he bent down to wash his hands she found herself studying the way his spine delicately stepped in a steady line up his long thin back. She forced herself to turn away. These thoughts, they grew like poison in her mind. She knew they were wrong, had been told this many times before, but now they kept ambushing her, popping uninvited into her head.

The hardest part of the trek was far from over. The downhill track was slippery and overgrown, and she and Joseph skidded on the loose flaked rock. Every time she jolted, Maryam's ear and head throbbed anew, and blood turned sticky as it seeped through the strips of cloth and met the air. All thought of reaching Aneaba was overshadowed by the hardship and exhaustion that now kept pace with them.

As the changing light brought the day more sharply into focus Joseph slowed, his eyes dull and his breathing coming in painful grunts. Even more worrying to Maryam, the skin around his neck was starting to mottle with the first new signs of Te Matee Iai she had seen on him since the blood-letting had swept them clear.

Finally, as morning light streamed through the leaves of mature pandanus trees, the terrain flattened out and eased. Beneath their feet, the rock was slowly swallowed by light soil and the rich decaying smell of the jungle was replaced by the lighter scent of sand and sea.

“That's it!” Maryam said, so relieved she nearly wept. “The worst is over.”

She turned to Joseph, who lagged behind her now. But instead of returning her smile, he crumpled right in front of her. She bent over him, terrified. But although he looked like death, he did still breathe—shallow panting like that of a poisoned puppy she'd once found. She helped him to lie more comfortably on his side, murmuring words of reassurance she knew were trite.

“I can't go on,” he mumbled, when his breath finally slowed. His voice was changed, as though his tongue had thickened and swollen. “Leave me here.”

“Of course I won't leave you!” Maryam almost shouted the words.

“Just go!” Joseph told her, more able to speak now. “Seek out Sarah's family and say your piece. I will rest a little here.”

“You think I'd just go off and desert you when you're ill?” she said, her ear throbbing mercilessly. What must he think of her?

In the silence before he answered, Maryam realised she could hear the distant whisper of the surf. They were so close to Aneaba now—it seemed as if yet again the Lord had dangled her desire in her face, only to sweep it away again the moment that she neared her goal, like a fisherman teasing fish onto a hook. What was it the Lamb had said to his Apostles?
Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men
. She sighed, shaking her head. Why, oh why, did everything she'd once held true now seem so sinister?

“Please,” Joseph whispered, his eyes drooping shut. “I just need to rest. Send someone to help me if you must, but please just go.” He coughed and began retching, each convulsion coiling up through his body like a whirlwind spinning the sea. Finally the retching ceased and he lay back.

Maryam scanned the coastal plain, hoping for some sudden aid. But besides the keening seabirds and the buzzing insects that rose to embrace the sun, no other life but hers was here to help. “All right,” she said. “I'll go to Aneaba as quickly as possible and return with help.”

He nodded, albeit slightly. “Take it easy,” he said. “You, too, are weak.”

“Don't die on me,” she whispered. She brushed her lips across his sweat-drenched brow to lightly kiss him there, as a mother would a child. But he tipped his head and caught the pressure of her lips with his. Only a few seconds, but when she pulled away, embarrassed and confused, it was as if a thousand bright-winged butterflies had hatched inside her stomach and were flying there.

She started to jabber, to bury the moment. “I will find someone who can—” But no words could disguise her blush. Better now merely to leave. “I will be quick.”

With that, she summoned up the last of her own strength and started running through the undergrowth toward the beach. Each pounding footstep reverberated up through her body to her ear and soon she felt the warm trickle of blood again, seeping through the bandages and down her neck. Above her, the sun rose hotter in the sky, promising a sparkling day.

As she broke through a glade of straggly breadfruit trees the air around her erupted in a mass of scolding sooty terns, their black beaks and eyes flashing dark and menacing against their stark white plumes. They were nesting: birds and more birds shot from their roosts amid the rocks, puffing up their feathers as they shrilled at her to stay away.

One painful step after another, she fought through the tangled vegetation, her lungs burning with each gasping breath and her muscles screaming out for rest. Then, at last, she reached the sea. And there, at the far end of a curving bay, the pandanus-thatched roofs of Aneaba peered out from their cloak of palms. The sight halted her in her tracks; it tickled
at her memory and tugged her heart. She knew this place! It sat within her like a secret, buried deep. Now, as she stumbled along the hard-packed silver sand above the high tide line, it truly felt as if she were returning home.

Closer to the village she could make out figures moving between the palms while, down at the water's waveless edge, a gaggle of small children paddled in the shallows, playing with a barking dog. It was the stuff of dreams; the moment she had conjured up each time she sought comfort or calm. But now was not the time for happy homecomings—first she must seek help for Joseph and then find Sarah's parents, to break to them her tragic news.

The dog was first to sense her and it ran toward her, its lips curled back to bare its teeth. But, despite the threatening grimace, its tail wagged. Maryam offered it her hand and waited for the animal to sniff her thoroughly before she made another move. The dogs back on the atoll, too, had feigned aggression when first approached, but she knew if she did not react then soon the dog would realise she was friend not foe. She crouched down to meet it nose to nose, sprawling backward as the dog lunged forward and licked the blood that smeared her face. She pushed it away, blotting up the dog's sticky saliva with her sleeve just as the first of the paddling children spotted her. A cry went up, and now they raced along the beach, water spraying out around them as they scuffed the tide.

Maryam hauled herself back to her feet, jogging on toward the village with the dog bounding at her heels. The first of the children, a painfully thin boy of six or seven, caught her up and ran along beside her, questioning her incessantly. “Ko na mauri ! Ko nako maiia?” Maryam struggled to switch her
thinking into the native tongue. Old Zakariya and some of the older servers had refused to speak only in English, and she was thankful now, as the words started to unravel and make more sense. “Where have you come from? What is your name? Why is your head bleeding?”

But it was impossible to answer him, however; the effort required just to keep moving sucked every scrap of energy. She smiled at him, trying to convey her good intentions, and as the other children joined the procession she felt as a mother hen would with her brood of noisy chicks.

Ahead, the first of the adult villagers broke from the cover of the trees to greet her. A man in his late middle years, he did not soften his wary posture even when she neared him and he registered her desperate state. The tattoos of his village ringed his neck, stylised frigate birds above a line of wavy sea. Maryam skidded to a stop in front of him, doubling over to ease the stitch that cramped her and allow a few seconds to collect her breath and plan her words.

The villager, meanwhile, took in her sweaty, soiled server's garb, and the blood-soaked bandage around her head. “What brings you to Aneaba, Sister?”

“Please,” she puffed out, “my companion is very sick back there and needs your help.” She pointed back along the beach, trying to pinpoint the exact place where she'd broken through the vegetation and found the sea. It all looked the same now, and panic stirred her as she thought of Joseph lying back there on his own.

The villager followed the line of her finger then flicked his gaze back to her. “What are two Sisters doing travelling across
the Baluuka Track alone?”

The suspicion in his voice, and his unwillingness to act, infuriated Maryam. If someone had turned up at the atoll, the Sisters would have leapt to assist them, no questions asked. Perhaps he'd react more favourably to her pulling rank? “He is an Apostle's son—the nephew of Father Joshua himself!”

Immediately the man's countenance changed. He seemed to shrink. He turned, calling to the children who milled around. “Fetch Moreese and Katane now.”

The children scuttled off like coconut crabs, their legs propelling them in the direction of their mission, while their eyes remained locked on Maryam as though she might vanish or they'd miss some fun.

Now he faced Maryam again. “How far along the beach?” he asked. “Take us there.”

She wanted to weep at this. Did she look like she could walk further? But if it was the only way to help Joseph, she had no choice. “Of course.” She was a server, after all. So much for thinking she was Blessed.

Two younger men ran up with the children still in tow. And, behind them, a group of curious villagers now watched from the shadows of the trees. Maryam swayed, as exhaustion swept her. The pain of her shredded ear was still so bad it burrowed like a stinging renga termite into her brain, and her legs felt like they'd turned to stone. The three men quietly conversed, then turned to her expectantly. She had no choice but to start making her way back down the beach.

She was hobbling now, both knees so sore from the downhill trek through the jungle that she half expected to hear them creak like branches in a wild gale. She bit her bottom lip to stop the wobble in her chin that warned of tears.

“Let the poor girl rest,” a woman's voice rang out behind them, full of scorn. The men stopped. A big-boned woman stood there, hands spread on her ample hips. She spoke directly to the oldest. “Natau, what were you thinking? Track the girl's footsteps instead. Can't you see she's had enough?”

She did not wait for the leader to respond, just closed the distance between them and wrapped a strong brown arm about Maryam's shoulders, claiming her. Natau grunted and motioned for the other two to carry on. “It is Father Joseph's nephew we aid,” he snapped at her. “Prepare a resting place for him on our return.” He turned on his heel, stalking off after the others as the woman laughed.

“That one claims he is the boss,” she chuckled, her arm slipping down around Maryam's waist to support her as they walked toward the village. “But all men are made small in bed!” The woman's tawny eyes swept over her, inspecting the blood-soaked strips of shirt.

As they reached the line of trees that framed the village, others came. Soon, Maryam found herself at the centre of a bustling group, the women chattering among themselves while casting shy glances at her.

She was led into a low cool hut. “I am Vanesse,” her rescuer told her, sweeping a pile of sleeping mats down from the rafters and stacking them for more comfort, on the neatly swept dirt floor. “Rest yourself here while I go and find the things I need to clean you up.”

Maryam fell gratefully onto the mats, closing her eyes and listening to the excited murmur of the other women gathered outside. She let her tears fall freely now, washing away the worst of her tiredness and worry over Joseph with their warm
release. Something hard pressed into her hip, and she reached down to brush it away—realising then that it lay in the pocket of her skirt. She reached inside and drew out Ruth's precious blue stone. The thought of Ruth brought Maryam's rebellious actions back to her in stark relief. By now Rebekah would have found her gone, and the unknown consequences would be set in motion.

But now Vanesse returned to the hut with an elderly woman close behind. They laid out the many things they carried next to where Maryam lay, and immediately set to work. “This is Umatu,” Vanesse said, nodding in deference to the stooped and densely wrinkled woman who'd already started to unravel the bloody mess on Maryam's head. “She's lost the power to speak, but her hands can heal.”

The words rebounded in Maryam's mind. How excited she'd been when Mother Michal told her she was blessed to heal. What a fool.

Vanesse soaked a sea sponge in water and gently dabbed away the blood. As Umatu removed the last of the bandage and carefully worked the blood-soaked moss free, she clucked her tongue.

“How did this happen, child?” Vanesse asked. Her eyes seemed to transform from brown to black as she studied Maryam's ear.

“I hit it on a sharp rock,” Maryam said, digging her fingernails into her palms to fight the pain when Umatu rinsed the sponge and started to clean out the wound.

“It was quick thinking to use the tabunea moss. Without it you'd have lost more blood than this, I think.”

Maryam could not resist a sardonic smile. “I have lost more blood already than I care to think.”

Vanesse looked up at her sharply, her brows knit in puzzlement. “What are you doing here, Sister? The children said—”

“Maryam,” she interrupted. “My Blessed name is Maryam.” She drew in a deep breath, her heart abruptly beating fast. “My birth name was Nanona. I think that I once came from here.”

Umatu's hands froze mid-stroke. She peered into Maryam's face, those ancient eyes seeming to delve into her very soul. Without warning the older woman tugged up Maryam's blouse and leaned in closer to her skin. Then suddenly, she chuckled and poked her finger into a small dimple beneath Maryam's left breast. Their eyes met—Umatu knew!

Vanesse glanced between the two, sensing something secret and significant had taken place. But she did not press Maryam to explain, just took a handful of succulent matutu leaves and split them so the thick clear sap released. She collected it on another clean sea sponge, using this to paste the sap gently on the wound. “This will numb the pain,” she said. “Once it's worked its magic we can close the tear and, so long as it does not infect, the sap should set the wound in place and hold it there until it heals.”

The two women worked in silence now, concentration tense upon their faces as they pieced her fragile skin back together. Maryam could hardly hold herself still: if Umatu knew about her dimple, surely she must be a member of her family, or know them well. If only Umatu could speak…. But she must try to contain herself—must first deliver Sarah's message and make sure that Joseph had been helped. By then she hoped the villagers would trust her, and be prepared to shelter her from the Apostles if they tracked her down.

Now, after one final close inspection, Vanesse and Umatu
packed more fresh tabunea moss around her ear and wrapped it all in a clean cover of pliable leaves. Vanesse patted Maryam's hand. “You should only need to wear this overnight. By tomorrow the matutu should set.”