The Crossing (21 page)

“Don't do this, cousin. Step away.” Joseph edged across the boat, pushing Maryam aside. “We mean no harm to you: just let us go.”

Lazarus laughed, the sound brutal and mocking in the night. “Go, dear cousin? But where?”

“Let her go!” Maryam railed, scrabbling through the ropes that cluttered and tangled at her feet.

“
Sister
Maryam. You think you are so clever yet I was in the village and I saw you pass with little goodie-two-shoes here.” Again he jerked Ruth by her neck, pressing the knife blade to her chest.

Maryam froze, not daring to move and risk him ending poor Ruth's life.

“Whatever this is about, Laz,” Joseph said, “hurting Ruth won't make it right. Come on now, be reasonable.” All the while he untied the final rope, working as stealthily as a lizard stalked its prey. He pushed Maryam down beside the tiller, lowering his head so only she could hear. “Be ready to move when I say.” Then he casually picked up an oar.

“Here's what I think,” Lazarus mused, driving Ruth a little closer to the bow of the boat. “I think you're leaving Onewēre and I plan to come.”

“You!” Maryam could not contain herself. “I'd rather journey with a shark.”

Lazarus greeted this insult with a smile. “That, Bleeder, can be arranged.”

Joseph lunged toward him with the oar. “How dare you speak to her like that?” he yelled, struggling to steady the boat as he tried to disembark.

But Lazarus was too quick for him, forcing Ruth's head back further and holding the tip of the knife blade up against her exposed throat. “Try that again, cousin, and you'll see this little Sister bleed as well.”

Ruth moaned, her knees buckling. Lazarus manhandled her up onto the forward deck to tuck both of them up against the wall of its thatched shelter. All the while he kept the pressure tight
around her neck and continued to brandish the knife. “Here's the deal. When we're far enough from land to stop you turning back for home, I'll set her free. Until that time, I suggest that you get paddling or someone else will happen along. I'm sure I'm not the only one who saw you run.” He grinned again. “In fact, I think I might have accidentally told the chief.”

Maryam sighed. So this was how it was to be. Escape, but only if they took Lucifer, too. She drew Joseph back to her side. “If he's telling the truth,” she whispered urgently, “we can't risk being caught out here.”

Joseph was furious. “But if we give in to this, we're stuck with him.”

From the jungle came the rumble of voices. “Hurry!” Maryam said. “We really have no other choice.”

She rose now, taking up the oar and pushing the boat, with one desperate heave, out into the waterway between the spindly fingers of the trees. If it was to be like this, then so be it. There would never be another chance.

Joseph, muttering angrily, scooped up the other oar and put his full weight in behind it so they glided out, free of the mangroves, and met the sea. Behind them, a mêlée of raised voices carried toward them on the wind.
No going back
. He hauled the storm jib up the forward mast, Maryam pointing the bow toward the foaming gap in the reef as the wind caught the sail and pushed them out into the rolling swell.

Beside the shelter, Lazarus still held firmly onto Ruth but lowered the knife to steady himself against the bucking of the boat. They sailed toward the passage at surprising speed, waves slapping and churning while Maryam fought to hold the tiller steady: it was so much bigger and heavier than the small training
boat. Joseph shouted orders from the foredeck, where he eased the ropes and struggled to untie the lashings on the big mainsail.

Then the reef was before them, its one small opening sucking them through to spit them out the other side with such ferocity they had no time to panic or to quake with fear.

Maryam twisted to look back across her shoulder toward home, where the light of several torches now flickered through the distant trees. Even a few more minutes there and they'd have been caught. But there was no more time to ponder this. She struggled to follow Joseph's curt instructions as he set about lifting the mainsail.

The boat wallowed on the waves, Maryam striving to position the sail hard to the wind. She felt a sudden surge as Joseph started hauling up the main, but the wind caught the half-opened sail and swung the boat around, pushing them at speed back toward the lethal coral. Joseph fought it as best he could, the wind flapping the patchwork fabric his father had sewn and the thunder of surf on reef blasting their ears. Maryam battled to turn the boat again to face the open sea. But it refused to turn, despite their frantic tussle with wind and sail.

“If we're going to be stuck with you,” Joseph barked at Lazarus, “then get up here and lend a hand.”

For one long terrifying moment Lazarus did nothing and the boat floundered in the swell, out of control. Then to Maryam's great relief he met the challenge, releasing Ruth and putting his weight in behind Joseph until at last they succeeded in heaving the wind-buffeted sail up the mast. At once, Maryam found she had more steerage and pushed the tiller round as far as it would go so the boat swung back onto its proper course.

They caught the wind again, pitching forward with such
force Ruth screamed with fright and slowly crawled back down the wave-drenched deck to huddle at Maryam's feet.

Maryam gulped in salty air, realising she had been so scared she'd hardly breathed for the entire crossing of the reef. Beneath them, now, the boat settled to a frisky trot, cutting through the waves as phosphorescence trailed, glistening and magical, from its bow.

She studied each of her companions—faithful Ruth, who cowered at her feet and no doubt cursed her for this plan; sweet, gentle Joseph, intent on the ropes, but turning to her now, his teeth white in the moonlight as he smiled for her alone; and, there, standing apart from the rest of them, the violent and unpredictable Lazarus, his hand gripping the boom possessively as he grinned into the raw face of the wind. What would become of them all, from this point on?

She glanced up to the heavens, to the myriad clusters of tiny stars and planets that would help to guide their way. She thought to pray, to appease her apprehension at whatever the future held in store, but in her heart no words would form. She just could not be sure, now, if the Lord was really there at all.

Instead, she brushed her windswept hair out of her eyes and turned toward the restless infinity of sea. What lay ahead now was unknowable, little more than unfamiliar names etched on an ancient map. But she believed, deep in her heart, that there was something better out there for them all. In this, at least, she must keep faith.

as written by Saul, the founding father of the Apostles of the Lamb

The native language spoken on Onewēre is derived from Gilbertese, the traditional language of Kiribati. Bible quotations are taken from either the King James (Authorised) Version, or from the Revised Standard Version.

Blood transfusion has a long human history, with the first official person-to-person transfusion promoted by the German doctor and chemist, Andreas Libavius, in 1615. Over time, various approaches and instruments were tried, including the method and equipment described in this book. The “special” blood referred to is blood-type “O” and people with this blood type are known as “universal donors,” because their blood will mix with all other blood types without clotting.

Upon completion of the first draft of this book, I discovered a strange coincidence between the Chosen in this story, and those of the Inca empire in the early thirteenth century, where The Chosen Women, also called acllyaconas or the Virgins of the Sun, were selected from throughout the empire for their beauty and taken from their homes at about ten years of age. The most beautiful were often sacrificed immediately, but the rest were forced to live apart in separate compounds and forbidden to leave for at least six or seven years (and then only a few lucky ones ever did). They were trained to serve, and learnt domestic skills such as cooking and weaving. Although described as virgins, they were available for the “pleasure” of the highest classes—but if they were discovered to be in a relationship of their own making, both the Chosen Woman and her
lover were buried alive. When they completed their “training,” aged about sixteen years, they were either forcibly married off (with no say as to who their spouse would be), forced to stay in the secluded compounds and continue to serve until they died, occasionally released, or chosen as sacrificial victims. Some became mamaconas, and stayed to teach the new generations of Chosen Women. It is said that some of The Chosen Women in the Cuzco temple of Coricancha were killed and their blood painted on the Inca nobles by the leading ruler. In the famous temple Machu Picchu, several corpses of young women have been found.
¹

1
. Sources: Division of Religion and Philosophy, University of Cumbria; Nora Raggio: “Pre-Columbian Sacrifices,” San Jose State University,
http://gallery.sjsu.edu/sacrifice/precolumbian.html;
Colin Forsyth: “Chosen Women of the Inca Empire,”
http://inca-history.suite101.com
; Lisa Louise Brailey, MD.

Many thanks to Lou Anders and the team at Pyr for their support; to Joe Monti of the Barry Goldblatt Literary Agency, New York, for his ongoing support and belief in the triology; and many thanks and much love to my family and friends, especially my “best boy,” Brian, and wonderful children, Thom and Rose.