The Crossing (18 page)

How could he be saying this?
Did he not realise how weak she was? How full of guilt? Of doubt? Of fear? “If I go now,” she said aloud, “those of you who helped me will be punished even
more cruelly than Brother Mark. Don't you see that I can't let this happen—that your life lies in my hands?”

“Remember the teachings of the Holy Book?
Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends
. If those of us who wish to help then perish…” He shrugged. “So, we perish. But far better that than never to have tried. Even the Lamb had grave doubts about his capacity to carry out the Lord's will.”

“But how can I go forward with the blood of good people on my hands?”

Hushai's face screwed up in anger and he clasped Maryam's shoulders and held her tight. “Not
your
hands, Maryam. The stain is theirs alone to bear. Never forget this. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can lead the way. You
are
that light—that torch—and this is your destiny, just as it is ours to follow the light.”

Maryam stared up at him, her own fearful face reflected in Hushai's opaque eyes. What he said was true, no doubt of that. She had no other choice but to proceed. For how could she bear living if she gave up the chance to flee when others had suffered far too cruelly for this goal?

The clattering of feet and hum of distant voices echoed through the corridors and leaked into the cell-like room through cracks beneath the guarded door. She could hear the guard outside, pacing up and down at times, obviously bored. It was tempting to call him in, to explain that even if he wasn't there, she had no strength at all to flee.

She presumed the day was drawing to a close by now, yet here she had no feel for either night or day. The air was thick with the sour smell of rising damp, which ate into the floor coverings and traced the paint-cracked edges of the room in grimy blossomings of lurid green moss. She lay exhausted, as insubstantial as a fallen leaf, struggling even to raise her head to drink. Hushai, bless him, helped her when he could distract the guard, and ensured she always had fresh jugs of water to appease her raging thirst. But she knew he did this at his peril—that Mother Lilith had made no provision for her welfare since Joseph had received her blood. It seemed this was to be her punishment—no grand execution or public flogging, merely death by omission and a lack of care. How little they must think of her.

She didn't even have the strength or moisture left to cry. Instead, she drifted in and out of restless dreams that shrieked at her of thirst and death. So much for all of her grand escape plans. She had no chance of making it if someone did not help her build her strength.

She was just slipping back into a dream where none of those who she loved survived, when she heard some one speaking in the corridor then the departing foot steps of the guard. Seconds later Mother Deborah slipped in through the door. She rushed to Maryam's side, the rustle of her clothing loud in the room.

“I'm sorry it has taken me so long to come to you again,” Mother Deborah said. “I have been with Joseph, who is starting to revive.”

Maryam smiled weakly. At least her blood loss was not entirely in vain. Mother Deborah propped her up with two more musty pillows to help her drink. Then she took a ripe
banana from her pocket and peeled it, holding it so Maryam could take small bites. Even the effort to chew exhausted her, but the soft sweet flesh of the fruit settled in her belly and the juices rumbled out their gratitude for this simple yet much needed feast.

“I cannot stay long—I've sent the guard off on a message but our time is brief.” Mother Deborah reached into her pocket again and revealed a small ragged book. “I'm afraid they plan to leave you unattended, taking more blood every few days until you either live or die here all alone,” she told Maryam, confirming her fear. “But Hushai and I will make sure you have food and water enough to survive and build your strength. Meanwhile, please study this book.” She thrust it into Maryam's limp hand and smiled. “It belonged to my husband, Jonah, who found it years ago here on the ship. It tells how the stars may guide your way. You will need this knowledge on the boat.”

“But why? Are you not coming too?”

“I've given this much thought, but no. If I leave Onewēre now, I leave behind the only tangible reminders of my Jonah's life.”

“What of his boat? He built it specially for you! Isn't that enough reason for you to come?”

“But he's not here to journey with.”

“You have a son—”

“Enough!” Mother Deborah cried out, crushing her face into her hands. Her breath strained out between her fingers as she fought to regain self-control. The eyes that finally met Maryam's were ringed with grief. “Without him I have grown…afraid.” She sighed. “There's the truth. When Jonah died it felt as though the world I'd known was ripped away. To sail off now, into some new unknown land…” She shook her head. “I
don't expect a girl like you to understand. But, trust me, I have not the strength or courage now to make this journey.”

“But Joseph—”

Mother Deborah pressed Maryam's hands around the book. “Please do not tell Joseph this. I doubt he will agree to leave if he knows…Believe me, I have thought this through. Besides, this voyage marks a new generation's fight for freedom—that alone is all I need to comfort me when you are gone.”

Maryam fingered the rough black cover, any remaining strength sapped further by this revelation.

“Just study it as best you can,” Mother Deborah urged her.

As Maryam opened the old book at a random page, the sharp stench of mould wafted up. She glanced at the tiny print. Although she had been taught to read the Holy Book when she was young, her reading skills would be hugely challenged by this complex text. “I'll try,” she muttered unconvincingly, not wishing to disappoint.

Mother Deborah perched on the bed. “I have set in place our plan. Tomorrow, the Lord willing, Joseph will be well enough to make the trip back to our home. He is stronger already and the mottling on his skin is fading fast—a promising sign. I do not know how much time your blood will give him, but I gather that the more he receives, the longer the gaps between his relapses. We can only pray it will have been enough to travel to a new country where medicine can cure his plague.” She closed her eyes and placed her hand across her heart. Finally, she shook herself and carried on. “I will stock the boat with everything that you might need. Water, food, a means to fish. And, on the night the moon is at its fullest, three days from now, we'll sail around to meet you at the mangroves where we moored today. You understand?”

Maryam forced her head to nod. “Three days from now. At the full moon.”

“Indeed. It's vital this timing works. They plan to take your blood again on the fourth day if you live, and I fear greatly that if this happens you will not survive.” She let the horrifying implications of her words sink in. “All that you can do now is to concentrate on getting well—and studying the stars, of course.”

“I'll do my best,” Maryam promised, hoping her brain would clear itself of this fog.

Mother Deborah leaned down and pecked her quickly on the cheek. “There are no words to thank you enough for what you have done for my son. I only pray that this one extra treatment is enough to keep him well.” She sighed, so full of motherly concern Maryam felt almost guilty she had not given Joseph more of her blood.

The older woman made to leave, but Maryam reached out for her and drew her back. “Please. I need to speak to you of Sister Ruth. She dines tonight at Father Joshua's table and I fear for her. She'll not dare resist him if he—” She choked, unable to voice the content of her fears. Ruth was so innocent, so ripe for plucking by this man.

An angry shadow darkened Mother Deborah's face. “I understand. I will eat at the top table and watch her well.” With this, she carefully checked the corridor, then slipped outside.

Maryam listlessly flicked over pages of the book on her bed. At first the drawings there made little sense. But slowly the meaning started to detach and seat itself inside her brain. These marks were stars! Masses of tiny dots of different sizes linked by lines defining different patterns and shapes. Then she recognised
the Maiaki Cross that pointed straight toward the south, and the wondrous Ingabong star that heralded dawn—all the constellations she'd gazed up at with such awe when first she realised that the sparkling orbs up in the night sky were the lights of distant suns and other worlds.

She studied the pictures as best she could, trying to memorise the intricate patterns each page revealed, but found she could not concentrate. The weariness refused to shift and, finally, she hid the book beneath her covers and rolled over to seek solace in sleep.

When next she woke, the room had grown so dark the markings on the pages were no more than a blur. Outside a wind must have arisen, for she could hear the pounding of the sea against the reef. It reassured her; connecting her spirit back to the outside world in a way that was not physically possible locked in this tiny claustrophobic room. Somewhere out there in the night her father roamed, so caught up in his status and his fear he could reject her like a poisonous stonefish cast from the net. And out there, too, in the star-studded night, must roam the grieving soul of Rebekah, clutching her lifeless, half-formed baby in her arms. Perhaps she would be comforted by Brother Mark, the two of them free at last.
Forgive me
, Maryam sent out to them,
I planned to save you from such harm
.

Hushai must have been in while she slept, for on the bedside table stood a bowl of soup. She wrapped her hand around the bowl to test its warmth. Only tepid, but her hunger was not fussy and she guzzled it. The chunks of snapper were overcooked
and dissolved into bland mush inside her mouth, but nothing could take away from the relief of filling her belly with a nourishing meal. Once replete, she lay back exhausted—and increasingly concerned. If eating a meal could tire her so greatly, how on earth was she to sail a boat just three days hence?

The low rumble of the guard's snores drifted into her consciousness, followed by the tiny scratchings of the key being turned ever so gently in the lock. The next thing she knew, Ruth's glossy black-haired head popped around the doorway and she snuck inside. Light on her bare toes, she raced across the room and threw herself into Maryam's waiting arms.

“Praise the Lord that you still live!” Ruth released her, climbing up onto the bed beside her and burrowing under the blankets, too. Her toes were cold as mountain spring water and Maryam feebly kicked them away.

“Keep your frozen feet to yourself !”

“If they feel frozen to you then that is good! A corpse would not complain of cold!”

They grinned at each other, for a moment forgetting all else but the pleasure of lying side by side, as they had done since they were small. But then Maryam remembered her concerns for Ruth's safety and her smile died.

“Tell me of your evening meal.”

Now Ruth's smile fled as well. “They were all so nice to me, asking me about growing up on the atoll. About Mother Elizabeth—and you. I told them you were a true believer and that you had long pined for your mother and that's probably why you ran.” She turned her smooth broad face to Maryam, staring intently into her eyes. “This is the line that you must take. Mother Elizabeth made me promise that I'd pass this on.”

“Mother Elizabeth?” Maryam snorted. “She must be trying to protect her back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. My running will look bad for her. She doesn't care for me at all—she's already made this clear. But if the Apostles thought she was somehow on my side…”

Ruth shook her head. “I can't believe she'd say that to you. She loves us, Maryam. She brought us up.”

“It was her job, Ruthie. Can't you see?” She wanted to explain it further, but the weariness left her panting after every sentence. She waited until her breath had slowed, then tried again. “And Father Joshua?”