The Crossing (16 page)

She picked away at her own meal of steamed fish and taro with her fingers, playing up her servility to throw Lazarus off the scent of their newly formed scheme. She had not needed to work hard to convince Mother Deborah of its merits: the two of them had hurriedly conspired together as they prepared the meal. Mother Deborah would return with them to
Star of the Sea
, where she could contrive the means to postpone Joseph's death and set in motion their eventual escape. All it now took was Lazarus's unintentional co-operation and the hook was baited—so long as Joseph lived that long and he, among all others, did not suspect the purpose of their plan.

Mother Deborah now pushed her empty plate away and leaned in toward Lazarus, touching his arm. “Nephew, I would seek your help. I need someone with stealth and strength.”

He looked at her, surprised and pleased. “Of course, Aunt Deborah. I'm glad if I can be of help.” He straightened himself,
preening with such an air of self-importance Maryam hurriedly hid a smile behind her hand.

“I know you must make all haste to get the girl back to the Holy City, but Joseph and I need to travel there as well.” Her gaze turned to Joseph, who had slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes, and worry creased her brow. “He is in need of your mother's expert care, and I am worried that the trek will further weaken him—especially since his strength was sapped by trying to recapture this stupid girl.”

Joseph's eyes flickered open and he looked confused. It seemed he was about to speak—perhaps to chastise his mother for her change of tack over Maryam's position—when Maryam saw a subtle look pass between them. He nodded almost imperceptibly and sealed his lips.

“You want me to arrange a litter?” Lazarus asked. In his self-absorbed state he'd clearly missed their silent exchange.

Mother Deborah shook her head. “I fear the trip is still too slow.” Now she shimmied closer to him and murmured conspiratorially: “I have a much, much faster way.”

“Indeed?” Lazarus's face lit up with curiosity.

“I first must ask you for your word not to reveal this to a soul.” She gestured dismissively at Maryam. “The girl I can keep silent on the threat of death, but from you I expect loyalty not to say a word.” She paused, playing on the drama of the moment. “Not to your friends. Not to your pretty server playthings. And, most especially, not to your mother or father. On the memory of my darling Jonah you must swear this.”

How he is lapping this up
, Maryam thought, watching as his eyes widened and he licked his lips. His greed for power was playing right into Mother Deborah's hands.

“For you, Aunt, and in the memory of my uncle, Jonah, I solemnly swear.”

Mother Deborah reached over to him now, cupping his face between her hands to kiss each cheek. “I will not forget this, my sweet nephew. I will be indebted to you till my dying day.”

Again Maryam struggled to contain her mirth: the vain boy had puffed up like a frigate bird luring its mate. Joseph's eyes were on him also, equally amused, although still clearly puzzled by his mother's intent. He looked over at Maryam for one long searing moment before he was consumed by another cruel bout of coughing. It hurt her to see him struggle so, and took all her willpower not to rush to him and offer help. How could she feel so deeply for him when so little time had passed since first they met? The emotion, strange and raw, was heightened by his failing state.

“So,” prompted Lazarus, “what is your great secret plan?”

“I have a sailing craft—a small longboat converted to use the wind to push it forward.” She held up her hand to ward off his response. “I know it is against the Rules of the Apostles but…” Here she lowered her voice and smiled in a perfect replica of his own cynical smirk. “We all know there's one set of rules for the servers and the villagers, and a completely different set for us.”

Lazarus nodded, not appearing to find this at all out of the ordinary. “And you can sail this craft?”

“Indeed I can. And I intend to show you, too. Now that Jonah has died and Joseph is…weakened—” her casual tone cracked at this, and she had to swallow hard before she continued “—I'd like to give the boat to you. But first, I want to use it to transport Joseph quickly back to
Star of the Sea
.”

Lazarus sprang to his feet in his eagerness. “Count me in! When do we leave?”

Mother Deborah laughed. “I fear we'll have to wait the night. But if you help me to prepare everything, we'll leave at dawn. It's easier to learn to sail when you can see!” She, too, rose and then turned to Maryam. “Stay and clear this mess up, girl. Brother Lazarus and I will go now and prepare the boat.” She towered over Maryam, weighting her words for Lazarus's benefit. “Do not attempt to leave this hut. I will have villagers posted outside to stop you should you try—and I will not be responsible for how they choose to carry this order out.”

“Yes, Mother,” Maryam replied, in her most submissive voice. She watched them leave the hut, Lazarus romping around Mother Deborah like an excited puppy let loose from its cage.

“What is my mother playing at?” Joseph now asked.

Maryam started to collect up the discarded remnants of the meal. She shrugged. “Concern for you. She wants to get you back there without more strain.”

“But why, when I would rather stay where I was raised? Besides, I don't want those blood suckers anywhere near me now. Mother knows that.”

Maryam could not contain her frustration. She squatted down next to him and pressed her cool hand on his feverish forehead. “You are lucky,” she quietly chastised him, “to have a mother who loves you so. She will not rest until she can relieve you of this awful plague. If you love her in return then you must do everything in your power to help save yourself.” She let out a sigh of yearning. “Cherish your time with her. What I'd give for just one more day with mine.”

A tear slid from the corner of her eye and Joseph reached
up to wipe it away, brushing one finger gently across her cheek. “How can I argue with that?” he asked wryly, pressing her teardrop to his lips.

He looked so sad, so totally exhausted by the need to fight, now, for his life, Maryam leaned over and kissed the place her tear now sat. She intended just a peck, to offer him some slight comfort, but his hands reached up and dug themselves into her thick curtain of hair to draw her in—and this time, comfort was clearly not the driving force behind their brief, yet tender, kiss.

Dawn was still just a vague promise on the horizon when four figures made their furtive way through the sleeping village, heading for the private cove where Mother Deborah hid her small training boat. She and Lazarus had prepared the craft the night before, freeing it from its camouflage of low-growing plants to erect the mast and fit the sails.

Now, in the silence before the birds broke into song, they dragged the boat down the sandy slip of beach and floated it out into the surf. One by one they climbed aboard, Maryam helping Joseph to settle in a corner where he would be protected from the wind and surf. Lazarus guided it until the water reached his thighs, then leapt aboard himself just as the first faint breath of wind caught in the sails.

Mother Deborah threw the tiller around and pushed the boom out wide to catch the breeze. She steered the boat out through the reef, pointing out the way the waves broke differently between the deadly coral shelves. Maryam listened intently, knowing she must take in every lesson of the trip in preparation for her own. And
Mother Deborah was a good teacher, explaining each maneuver and technique with detailed care. When they reached the safety of the open sea, Lazarus took the tiller under her guidance and showed, although Maryam hated to admit it, he was a natural sailor, able to read the subtle shifts of wind and tide with ease.

“Sister Maryam, I may as well put you to work here at the ropes,” Mother Deborah said casually.

Maryam's heart raced as she edged down the boat to take her place, all the while waiting for Lazarus to protest this plan. But he was in his element, really relaxed and happy for the first time since Maryam had known him, an unambiguous smile lighting his face.

They tacked along the coast, zigzagging forward and back to practise each new maneuver. Lazarus laughed aloud as the spray washed over the bow, something that happened each time they cut too sharply across the swell. It was exhilarating, there was no denying it, even Joseph cracking a smile. And soon, despite themselves, Lazarus and Maryam worked as a single unit without the need for Mother Deborah's aid.

With the dawn finally breaking salmon-pink across the sky, the little boat dipped and dived its way through the gentle ocean swells, the breeze scuffing over them as screeching seabirds reeled above and silver flying fish leapt from the ocean out in front of them, seemingly to guide their way. Maryam tried to imagine how it would feel to sail the big boat Father Jonah had built back in the cave. With its two tall masts and much bigger sails, would it handle anywhere near as easily as this? What a speed it must reach out in the open sea, flying across it with all the ease of their small silver-scaled guides.

Then Mother Deborah insisted Maryam and Lazarus swap
places, Maryam taking the tiller and learning how to monitor the feather flying from the tip of the mast to gauge each slight shift in the wind. Once, distracted by one of Joseph's coughing bouts, she allowed the sails to slacken: they flapped loudly until she finally managed to swing the boat back to its course. There was so much to think about—wind, tide, swell, reef—and she found herself so absorbed in the process that it seemed no time at all before her much-loved atoll home came into view just off the coast.

Now Mother Deborah took the tiller again, Lazarus on ropes, the little boat skimming over the reef and hugging the coast. With Maryam's help they lowered the sails, rowing in through the mangrove maze until the boat was nestled into a small wharf formed from one enormous rotting log. They tied it off there, clambering up onto dry land.

All that exhilaration, that sense of freedom on the sea, disappeared as quickly as a speck of dust borne on the breeze. On the far side of the mangrove swamp the local village would be stirring now and there, across the causeway, the Apostles lay in wait to receive their errant server back into the fold.

Try as she might, Maryam could not prevent her legs from trembling as they approached the causeway and took the first tentative steps along its snaking bamboo deck. Her head started pounding and her stomach twisted into knots. The plan had seemed so easy when they'd plotted it last evening, but now all her fears gathered back around her.

Lazarus, too, must have sensed the change: he grabbed her by the arm and marched her forward like that first struggling sacrificial goat. So this was how it was to be. All power stripped away from her, she had no choice but to be led back into Father Joshua's brutal, unforgiving world.

The platform began its laborious journey up the side of
Star of the Sea
, each of the four aboard pensive and silent and every scrape and groan from their advance up the rusting hull shocking through them. Even Lazarus lost his air of supreme confidence as they were hoisted ever closer to the top. He dropped his grip on Maryam, his arms hanging like dead weights as he closed his eyes and drew a curtain of indifference across his face.

Maryam's knees weakened and continued trembling despite her resolve to stay calm. If she knew what lay ahead of her it might have been a little easier, but this not knowing—this gnawing sense of real doom—ate away at her defences, even though Joseph and Mother Deborah had both privately assured her they would do everything within their power to help diffuse Father Joshua's wrath.

She peered upward into the faces of the four strong servers who manned the ropes, hoping to find Brother Mark among them. But Maryam did not recognise the men and his absence ratcheted her anxiety up a further notch. What if his part in her escape had been discovered and had caused him harm?

This guilt continued to build as they followed the unidentified servers through the corridors—to the theatre, no doubt, where Father Joshua would lie in wait. Here she was, headstrong and stupid, risking the wellbeing of the very people who had shown her care. It was blatantly clear now that no life under Father Joshua's iron rule was free from fear, not even those within his fold. If Mother Deborah and Joseph backtracked
now and offered her up for punishment, she would not blame them. Indeed, perhaps it would be better if they did—this way she, alone, could take the blame.

As they stepped in through the theatre doors and made their way toward the stage, Maryam could see Father Joshua sitting up there on his throne. Mother Lilith stood to his right, Mother Michal to the left, like an unholy trinity, while what seemed like light from the Lord streamed down upon them from its power source up in the ceiling, accentuating the pale marble of their skin. Maryam felt her stomach contract and twist as the great man's eyes lazily traversed the group, narrowing when they locked on her. There was such hate in those eyes, such a cold consuming fury, that before she even reached the stage her legs froze mid-stride. All bone seemed to dissolve and she staggered, slumping forward onto the patterned floor to prostrate herself before the group. Humiliating and cowardly as it was, at least this way she did not have to meet his eyes.

“Leave the sinner and come forward, my dear family,” Father Joshua called, his voice surprisingly warm and inviting.

Maryam felt the stir of feet overtaking her, as the other three made their way up to the stage. She dared not watch, focusing, instead, on catching every passing word.

“You have done well, my son, bringing this foolish sinner back so quickly.” Father Joshua's voice sounded relaxed, as though he was smiling, and the image of his bared teeth flared in Maryam's frightened mind. He smiled like a shark, without soul or conscience.

“I had the help of my aunt and cousin, Father. In fact, Joseph here deserves the praise. He saw the girl escape and followed her all through the night.” Lazarus must have accepted the story
Mother Deborah fed him as they'd rigged the boat. Even if he was not entirely convinced by this, the promised prize of the small boat was obviously enough to win his silence—at least for now.

“Indeed? Well, Joseph, my boy, then it is you who I must thank.” Although his words were pleasant enough, his tone grew tense. “Why don't you go and rest from your journey now, nephew. You look done in.”

Maryam peeped up through her hair, just able to see the way Joseph swayed precariously from fatigue. Lazarus came to his aid, hooking his arm through Joseph's and propping him up. She recalled him at Joseph's side the first time she had seen them at Jonah's funeral. His thoughtful concern, both then and now, seemed so contradictory, so unlike the Lazarus she loathed and feared.

“If you'll excuse us, Father,” he said, “I'll take him to my room to rest.”

“Of course.” Father Joshua waved them away, worry knitting his brow. He flicked his gaze back to Maryam, who quickly lowered her head again to avoid his eyes. When he continued, the concern in his voice astonished her. There was a real family bond there, after all. “He looks terrible, Deborah. You should have sent for Lilith to come to you and let him rest.”

“Perhaps. But we are here now, and that's what matters.” Mother Deborah paused.
Now, it starts.
“Dismiss the other servers, Joshua. What I wish to tell you about my plans for this foolish girl must be for our ears alone.”

Father Joshua clapped his hands. “Leave us now. Go out and blow the conch. Gather everyone together outside the doors and treat them all to extra toddy. Let them enter here only at my command.”

Behind her, Maryam heard the servers' footsteps recede and disappear—the door clanging shut behind them as they complied without a word. In the silence that followed, Maryam heard the low reverberating thrum of the conch shell. This was not good. Whatever her punishment was to be, he had decided to make it public—a sacrifice to stamp his mark of power on the group.
Dear Lord
, she desperately prayed,
if you are here and still listening, aid me now.

Meanwhile, Mother Deborah laid the foundation for their plan. “You are right, dear brother-in-law, that Joseph is almost spent. I realised when I saw him that I never should have tried to stop Lilith from curing him.” Her voice dropped, as though divulging precious secrets to a friend, and Maryam had to strain to hear. “When I saw how he was struggling to please you by capturing the girl, it cleared my head.
You
're
the sole head of our little family now—and if it pleases you to cure Joseph then there's nothing I would rather see. I cannot bear another death.”

Mother Lilith spoke up now. “Well, praise the Lord! If we continue with the process we can maintain his strength.”

“Indeed, it's time we joined together as one family again,” Father Joshua said. “Too long we've been at loggerheads. It's time we all started anew.”

“Thank you, Joshua. You're truly as kind and forgiving as our sweet Lamb.” Maryam strained for any hint of irony in Mother Deborah's voice, but none leaked through. She sneaked another look, not surprised to see pompous satisfaction on Father Joshua's face—the same overt vein of conceit in the father as the son.

Mother Deborah was certainly good at baiting the hook, and now she expertly cast her line. “With this in mind I have a suggestion that may suit us both. I now recognise my Joseph
needs special blood to save his life, and it occurs to me that this wayward girl needs a life-changing lesson to curb her pride.”

Father Joshua leaned forward, rubbing his hands together like a hungry man. “Go on.”

“Give my boy her blood at once. If it breaks dear Jonah's moral code then so be it—I want my son to have a life.”

“You know he has undergone this procedure once already?” Mother Lilith broke in. “And that to really make a difference now and save his life, we'll almost have to bleed her dry?”

Mother Deborah nodded. “Yes, I gather you've already tried to help him—and I thank you—but I understand he needs more blood.” She squatted down at Joshua's feet, clasping his hand as humbly as a disciple would the Lord's. “Look, I know it sounds sinful but, quite honestly, I really don't care about the girl. Please—Joshua, Lilith—just save my boy.” She broke down now, crying as if her heart would break, and Maryam knew that in this show of emotion, at least, she did not lie. Joseph meant everything to her. To lose him really would destroy her, too.

Mother Lilith bent down and patted Mother Deborah's heaving back. “Hush now, dearest sister-in-law. Of course we'll do everything in our powers to make him well.”

“It's an excellent suggestion, Deborah, and will solve two pressing problems in one.” Father Joshua sounded pleased with himself. He looked to Mother Lilith: “Now you and Michal can take Deborah to rest, and further discuss these plans. I have another fish to fry.”

In the moments it took for the women to make their way from the room it seemed to Maryam the temperature dropped, sending shivers up her spine. She was alone with Father Joshua, and neither Joseph nor Mother Deborah could protect her now.

The doors clicked open and the sound of others gathered outside filled the void. “You may enter now and take a seat,” Father Joshua called out to them. Almost instantly, Maryam felt the surge of people around her.

Somewhere in the crowd would be Ruth. And Rebekah, Hushai, and Brother Mark. Yet this did not comfort her. Whatever happened to her now, they would be powerless to help.

It seemed an eternity before the last of the servers found a seat and the crowd grew quiet, and in this eternity Maryam felt her mind go strangely still. What could he do to her that hurt more than the enraged rejection of her father? Kill her now? This, she was fairly certain, he would not do—not now Mother Deborah had planted her seditious seed. Her blood was too important to them to spill for punishment's sake alone. No, he would defile and humiliate her, no doubt, but she could survive this—knowing that, so long as he did not suspect their secret plan, she still might have a chance to beat him at his cruel game.

Now Father Joshua clapped his hands and his voice grew loud and dangerously commanding. “You are here to witness the Lord's punishment on one who has deceived us all. This girl, who we all so generously welcomed to our Holy City only weeks ago, has spurned His word and spread Lucifer's lies.”

An outraged murmur rippled through the crowd and Maryam felt as though hundreds of eyes branded her. When Father Joshua spoke again, his voice filled even the far recesses of the theatre with its tolling strength. “Remember the Holy Book, good Children:
Anyone arrogant enough to reject the verdict of the judge or of the priest who represents the Lord your God must be put to death. Such evil must be purged
.”

Throughout the crowd, voices rose to back his words. “Hallelujah!” “Praise the Lord!” “Stone her!”

“Purge Lucifer's spawn!”

He laughed then, a great full-bellied guffaw that collected the crowd up in their excitement and egged them on. “I know, I know, it's hard to comprehend why one who has behaved so sinfully should not be slain but, Children, we are greater than our basest instincts—we are Blessed. We do not need to stone this foolish heathen here to mete out punishment, when we can bring her back to the Lord. Besides, He is bigger and kinder and more forgiving than all this.
There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment out of Hell, but the mere pleasure of the Lord.
And He has spoken to me on this matter and shown His will—that we, sweet disciples, teach this poor sinner lying here before us a lesson in humility she'll not forget. As the Holy Book says:
Obey your earthly masters with deep respect and fear
.” He wound his voice up in a dramatic crescendo as he demanded: “Speak out now and remind our fallen Sister of Rule Three.”

All around Maryam the crowd chanted, “
Through the mandate of His Blood, the Lamb speaks to His Apostles and gives them dominion over His entire congregation on the earth.
”

“That's right, my Chosen. Heed the Rules.
By the power of the Lamb's Blood, Lucifer and all his heathen followers shall be overcome
.”

All around the theatre, frenzied voices shouted “Hail the Lamb!” as though possessed. Father Joshua, meanwhile, strutted the stage, clapping along in time to their chanting until it built into a thundering roar—baying for blood. Then, at the chanting's peak, he held his hands aloft and all fell quiet, with such an air of expectation Maryam felt all vestiges of calm and confidence flee.

“Stand up now before me, girl, to learn respect.”

She rose, her face burning with embarrassment and shame, and staggered up onto the stage. She dared not look to right or left, scared by the unbridled hostility she could feel emanating from the crowd. When she finally stood before the puffed-up Father Joshua, she prostrated herself again at his white-slippered feet. “Forgive me, Father: I have sinned. I did not mean to—”

“Silence!” Her pulse thundered in her ears as he edged up so close the sour smell of his slippers caught in her nose. “How dare you throw the Lord's generosity up in His face? From the moment you were Chosen we have nurtured you as one of our own. Yet how do you reward such gifts? Betrayal! Slander! Casting your poisoned lies out upon the land.”

He reached down and grabbed her by the hair, jerking her upright as her nerves screamed pain from each strained follicle. The crowd clapped and jeered as he pulled Maryam toward him, yanking her head back so she could do nothing but stare at him, horrified, full in the face. Then he spat into each of her eyes—two great sticky globules of saliva blinding her and sending the contents of her stomach heaving up toward her throat.

“
Because you have sinned against the Lord, I will make you as helpless as a blind man searching for a path. Your blood will be poured out into the dust, and your body will lie rotting on the ground.
…” Father Joshua recited.