The Crossing (7 page)

At the end of the meal, she helped the other kitchen servers clear the dishes from the room. Feeling the prickle of someone's gaze upon her, she turned to find Lazarus smirking at her from the doorway. He rubbed the place upon his cheek where she had slapped him, wagging an admonishing finger as he grinned. But there was nothing truly friendly in the smile and she turned away, refusing to respond. He was a tease, that was all. His words meant nothing: they were designed to scare a newcomer and make her doubt. But she was stronger than he thought—she would not allow his childish games to stir her now she'd survived the tests and been accepted to the flock.

Those tests had surely stripped her of vanity and pride and it occurred to her that, now the Apostles were convinced of her conviction, they would leave her be. Besides, with this beautiful and miraculous Holy City to serve in, how could she have ever doubted the Lamb's love?

Over the next three weeks Maryam settled in to her new life in the Holy City, waking each morning to collect the water for her bath before going about her kitchen chores amidst the chatter of the group. During the day her required silence didn't bother her,
as the other servers seemed content merely with her smile. But she yearned for the closeness she'd once had with Ruth, missing their easy conversations. Rebekah could not fill this gap, refusing to communicate anything other than the task at hand. And so each night, as Maryam lay in bed and reflected back over the day, her mind would fill to overflowing with the host of thoughts and questions she'd been unable to express aloud.

She tried, each night, to take the soothing words of the Holy Book and make them real, but always her nagging doubts would crowd them out and leave her with a sense of unease—why had she been Chosen and what was her role? It was tempting, when her mind refused to still, to succumb to the anga kerea toddy and slip into a numbing sleep. But she fought it, paying heed to Hushai's warning and, instead, she'd often sneak up to the outer decks to take in the salty fresh sea air. This was foolish, she knew, and she made sure her late-night ramblings went unobserved.

One long hot afternoon, as she helped scrub taros and scale fish for the evening meal, she found the heat pressing down upon her—her eyes longing to droop shut and her hands fumbling in their menial jobs. She was struggling to lift a heavy water container when Mother Michal approached.

“Sister Maryam? I thought you'd like to know that Sister Ruth and Mother Elizabeth are to join us tomorrow—Ruth's bloods have come.”

This news was like a gift straight from the Lord.

At last! Her dear friend and Mother Elizabeth, too! She clapped her hands, wishing she could let out an unholy yell.
Now
her life here would be happy and complete.

Mother Michal helped wrestle the huge container onto the
bench. “I'd like you to come with me now.” She smiled at Maryam and winked. “I'm sure you will not mind if I drag you away!”

Maryam returned the smile, happy the tension she had sensed initially between them had now been erased. In fact, everyone seemed so much warmer now.

She waved goodbye to Rebekah and the others and followed Mother Michal out. Today she was relieved of chores, and then tomorrow she'd see Ruth! But as they traversed the endless corridors, Maryam began to ponder just what this imminent arrival would really mean. She'd have to get to Ruth before she, too, was thrown into the dreadful testing unaware.

Then she recognised where Mother Michal was leading her—back toward the hospital. Try as she might, she could not stem a sudden fear. What if Mother Lilith had found something wrong with her insides at the time of the examination? What if she was really sick? She longed to ask Mother Michal what lay in store, yet dared not break the rule of silence. Instead, she prayed frantically inside her head.
Merciful Lord, He who knows and sees all, please protect your little Sister…

The words soothed her. When they reached the hospital corridor, Mother Michal turned. “The Lord has spoken to Father Joshua and told him how you're best to serve.” She reached over and patted Maryam on the arm. “You are indeed lucky, child. The Lord has given you the power to heal.”

To heal? If only she could ask what this meant, but Mother Michal led her now into a small stark room. All that it contained was a strange bed, elevated near the low ceiling, with one small chair and table at its side.

“Sit,” Mother Michal gestured. “I will tell Mother Lilith you are here.”

Perhaps, Maryam thought, she was to be trained in the ways of herbs and medicines by Mother Lilith, as Mother Evodia had been many years before? What a joy that would be, to bring an end to others' suffering and pain. This would make the tests worth it and must mean, surely, she had passed.

It was Hushai, not Mother Lilith, who now entered the room. “Ah, little Sister. I have feared that one day I would find you here.”

“Feared?” Maryam whispered. There was no other way to communicate with him, as he could not see her face, and the urge to know of what he spoke was great.

The old man shuffled over to her, a cup in his hand. “I have nursed others who have been before you, and I fear the outcome is not good.”

Panic broke over Maryam like a sudden wave. “Please, you must tell me all you know.”

Hushai stood perfectly still, as though listening, before he spoke again. “We have little time. I have been instructed to give you this draught. It is strong enough to make you sleep. It is up to you to decide whether you will take it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot see, little one. But I know you have a questing heart. If you are brave enough…” he reached out, brushing her face with his long fingers, “…and I do believe you are, then you might discover what is going on here by feigning sleep and observing for yourself.”

“But why do you fear that it is bad?”

The old man sighed. “Other Sisters have come before you to this room, and all eventually die.”

“Die?” Had not Mother Michal said that she was destined to heal?

“You must decide, for soon they'll come. But I have reached an age where I can no longer sit silently by. I want to face the Lord with a clear conscience when I meet Him.” He held the cup out to her, so close that she could smell the anga kerea paste. “It is your choice, Maryam. I will not blame you if you choose to hide in sleep.”

She took the cup from him, shaking so badly that the liquid splashed on her hand, and started to sip the toddy, feeling how it burnt inside her mouth. No! Whatever the Lord now held in store for her, she would go forward with open eyes. She passed the cup back. “Take the drink. I will feign sleep.” She could hardly say the words.

Hushai drank the toddy down in one. “My body is more used to this than you. Besides, I am an old man prone to dropping off—no one will guess.” He pointed to the raised bed. “Climb up there and close your eyes. Whatever happens, do not let them know you hear.” He drew her to him, gently embracing her. “My room is down the hall from here—Room five-five-two. Tonight, when all is silent, see if you can come to me and we will talk.” This he whispered rapidly: voices now echoed from the corridor outside.

Maryam trembled as she climbed up. “I am frightened, Hushai,” she whispered back. “I'm not brave.”

The old man reached up and cupped her face. “There is more inside you than you know. Be still, child. I will wait nearby.”

As the door handle turned, Maryam lay down quickly on the bed and closed her eyes. She tried to still her breathing, which was jagged now from real fear.

“Thank you, Hushai. You may leave now,” she heard Mother Lilith say.

Maryam heard him shuffle from the room. Heard someone move toward her, then her wrist was grasped.

“Her pulse is running very fast,” Mother Michal's voice seemed to boom.

“Probably chasing boys in her drunken dreams! You know how these native girls behave,” Mother Lilith laughed. “Bring the trolley over here, beside the bed.” Metallic rattling filled the air as something was wheeled across the room.

Maryam faked a sleepy sigh, turning her head toward the wall to hide the tears that leaked from her eyes. She had to concentrate not to give herself away. Why was the Lord doing this? Was her sin of doubting really so great that she must die?

Now Mother Lilith's voice cut through her frantic thoughts.

“Everything is ready now. Bring in the boy.”

It was hard, concealing the fact that she could hear every little sound. One of the Mothers still remained, and Maryam could hear her preparing something on the trolley next to the raised bed. She focused on breathing, struggling to keep each breath smooth despite the hammering of her heart.

“Now, my dear,” Mother Lilith muttered, “the work begins.”

With this, Maryam felt Mother Lilith take her arm and stretch it down from the bed to dangle unprotected there. She fought the desire to snatch it back as Mother Lilith wiped the crook of her elbow with something cold and wet. Next, she felt a band being placed around her arm, pulled tight and then tighter still, to form a painful stranglehold around her bicep. She could feel her blood straining up against the fabric of the band, as Mother Lilith took her hand and pumped it into a firm fist. Then, before Maryam could prepare herself further, something sharp pricked through the fragile skin of her inner elbow. She startled as something burrowed into her pulsing, pressurised arm.

Mother Lilith laughed to herself, patting Maryam's fisted hand. “Sorry, little cherub—not even the toddy can completely numb you to such a jab!” Now she worked the object in deeper, as Maryam fought to keep control.

Rule One: There is but one thing in the world
…She continued with her silent recitation as she felt the band release, her arm heating as blood flowed gratefully back down toward
her tingling fingers. Mother Lilith now fastened whatever she'd inserted there in place, humming indistinctly.

“Here he is,” Mother Michal's voice announced, and something else was wheeled into the room. Maryam longed to open her eyes, to find out what was going on, but didn't dare. She had no idea what they might do if they discovered she was still conscious.

“He is fully drugged?” Mother Lilith asked.

“Indeed. I made him drink the strongest brew—we should have at least two hours before he stirs.”

“And Deborah?”

“Joshua has taken her to Onewēre overnight.”

“Right then. The cannula is all in place here, so let's waste no time to hook him up.”

Maryam's arm ached and her shoulder threatened to cramp in its awkward position. She listened to the undecipherable sounds, fearing what would happen next.

“Okay, it's in,” Mother Lilith now said, and Maryam felt pressure as whatever was fixed to her arm was moved and stretched. “Easy does it—don't connect the other end until I've drawn more through.”

Maryam heard a sucking noise, and then a faint tinkle as liquid flowed into a dish.

“It seems a little thick,” Mother Michal commented. “Are you sure she had the proper doses of toddy to thin down her blood?”

“She wouldn't be passively lying here if not,” Mother Lilith replied. “But I do agree with you, it's definitely slow. I told Joshua the girl was risky—late bloods, undersized and a womb that will never birth a child…we may as well get the most out of her while we can. I don't think she will last too long.”

To hear herself so described, as if she were nothing more than the still-twitching organs of a sacrificial goat inspected for a reading by the village chief, left Maryam unnerved.
Never birth a child?
How strange that hearing this should hurt so much.

“Okay now, let's join them up.” Mother Lilith's voice was tense with concentration as Maryam felt more tugging on the device—the cannula—inside her arm. It didn't exactly hurt now, just throbbed dully in time to her fast-beating heart.

“There, it's in.” Mother Lilith's voice relaxed. “Given that her flow is slow, I'd say we leave it in for an hour.”

“A whole hour?” Mother Michal asked. “Surely that will take too much.”

“Joshua's orders were explicit. He wants the boy saved, despite the foolishness of both his parents. If the girl does not last the distance, others must be sacrificed to take her place.”

“I don't know who. We've had so many losses lately and that stupid girl Sarah is no longer suitable. She has the look of death upon her—I don't think she'll last the night. And nearly all the others are with child.”

Sarah might not last the night? Maryam just managed to stifle a gasp. So she was right: Sarah was very sick indeed. As she pictured Sarah's weeping wound, Maryam's stomach did a frightened lurch. That wound, the place from which it radiated, was identical in position to the cannula inside her own arm.

“Perhaps we will have to consider using the male servers—I've never understood why Joshua's so adamant to spare them,” Mother Michal said.

Mother Lilith laughed. “The girls are so much easier to manage. The last thing we can afford is an uprising among the men.” Her voice grew more distant: perhaps she had moved
somewhere across the room. “This should go smoothly enough now. I'll go and check the other patients if you don't mind waiting here?”

“That's fine,” Mother Michal replied. “I've brought the Holy Book to read.”

Maryam heard Mother Lilith leave the room and the turning of pages as Mother Michal settled down to read. She waited for what seemed an age, daring not to move or to alert Mother Michal to her conscious state. Then, when she could contain herself no longer, she slowly—silently—moved her head to face the room.

She cracked open her eyes a fraction, focusing first on the plain white wall opposite. Then she peered down at her aching arm. At the crook of her elbow, the needle-like cannula disappeared into her skin. From its other end a clear tube extended, and through it she could see her own blood flowing from her arm. She carefully tracked the tube, alert to any movement from Mother Michal. There appeared to be some kind of regulator that controlled the direction of the flow, and further down a strange bulb-like attachment and then more tube. Her blood gleamed crimson and it scared her to see this precious substance drawn from her body in such a steady flow.

Then the hairs on the back of her neck sprang up as she saw the boy Joseph lying there as still as death, her blood pouring into his veins through a needle in his arm. And worse, from his other prone arm, his own blood flowed away into a bowl. What were they doing, pumping her precious life blood into him? Surely
this
was not the gift of healing Father Joshua had consigned her to? How could this be part of the Lord's loving plan?

Mother Michal stirred and Maryam quickly closed her
eyes. She heard a door opening and a new voice spoke. “Mother Michal, Mother Lilith asked if you could leave for a moment and come with me. Three more patients have arrived and we're short of hands.”

“Of course,” Mother Michal responded, and the chair scraped as she rose.

Maryam waited for the sound of retreating footsteps before she risked opening her eyes again. Indeed the room was empty now, except for Joseph and her. She leaned out from the raised bed to study his sleeping face. The deep purple bruises of sickness under each eye were stark against his pasty skin. And the first angry whorls of Te Matee Iai mottled the boy's long neck. This realisation staggered her—had not the Lord granted the Apostles reprieve from this? Yet she knew the signs. Had seen others submit to its grasp. Like Joseph's father…perhaps she
had
seen the fatal signs on Father Jonah after all.

Joseph mumbled in his toddy-induced sleep, lines of worry creasing his brow. He was handsome, Maryam conceded—not in the broad glowing way of native boys, but his nose was thin and straight and his lips, though pale, were full and soft. And, beneath the long pale eyelashes she knew his eyes were striking blue. Such a waste to see his life hang in the balance like this, and yet…surely they would not save him at her expense?

Fear pressed in. It seemed to be true, from the words of the two Mothers, and the proof that pumped her blood away. He was the son of an Apostle, after all. For all she knew he was already old enough to be made one of their leaders. Yet had not the Holy Book said that all would be equal under the Lord's gaze? None of this made any sense. It scared her, tied as she was to the circulation of another, to think that the sacrifice of the
Rules was not some vague term for humility and commitment, but real death. One thing she was sure of: she was not yet ready for her life to end.

She turned her attention to the cannula in her arm. What would be the dangers of tearing it out? Would she be able to stem the flow of blood—to heal the wound? And where could she run once it was out? There was nowhere to escape to: the Apostles swarmed the ship and even on land their control stretched from one end of the island to the other. Besides, would her removal of the cannula doom the kind-spirited boy to die? There was so much to think through; so much she still did not understand. But she did not need the Rules or the Holy Book to tell her what was right or wrong.
This
was wrong. The callousness in Mother Lilith's voice and Mother Michal's blind acceptance of what went on.

She had no further chance to study her situation open-eyed. Footsteps sounded again and Maryam lay back, willing her breath to slow, as Mother Michal approached the beds, a sigh escaping her. “Don't give up, young man,” she cooed to the unconscious Joseph. “With luck we'll have you strong and healthy once again.”

Such concern made Maryam want to scream. Where were these same words for her? She longed to see Mother Elizabeth, sure she could offer comfort and advice. And Ruth, her little Sister, somehow she must save her from this life—and likely death.

The room grew stiflingly quiet, as Mother Michal settled back in with her Holy Book. Maryam fought to focus, to plan. But the more blood was stolen from her, the more she grew light-headed and struggled to think. She felt as though all life, all hope, was draining from her. Her head grew dizzier, her
heart-rate stampeding. And it grew cold, so cold, despite the sweat that broke out on her skin. She began to shiver, hearing from a great distance as Mother Michal quickly rose to check on her. But then her world diffused to black.

She was back in her own small room, she realised. Beyond, the ship lay silent, and she guessed it was now late at night.

She tried to stand, dizziness nearly driving her back to the bed. But she supported herself along the wall, making her way through to the bathroom to relieve her burning thirst. The water tasted stale and flat.

Her legs had turned to jellyfish, it seemed, and she slid down the smooth wall tiles, landing with a bump upon the cold stone floor. How was she to escape this nightmare? She had to speak to someone, anyone who could answer the questions and fears that seared her mind. Then old Hushai's words came back to her—
come to me and we will talk
—and she determined, now, to seek him out. He alone had seemed concerned about what took place there in that terrible room. He would know what to do next.

The light-headedness swept over her as she stood once more. Only by edging her way along the walls, stopping every few steps, did she reach her bedroom door. It was locked: she was an animal trapped inside a cage. She rattled the cursed door handle, willing someone—anyone—to aid her plight. Perhaps if she could wake Rebekah…. She summoned up her strength and called as loudly as she dared. “Sister Rebekah, are you awake?”

Somewhere in the bowels of the great ship something knocked and clanked, but from the door across the corridor no sound emerged.

“Rebekah! Please!” Desperation sharpened her voice and like a fish spear it pierced the wooden door, crossed the empty corridor and somehow found its way to Rebekah's ear.

“What? What?”

Hearing Rebekah's sleepy voice, Maryam risked calling once more. “Help, Rebekah!” Her heart beat wildly inside her chest: others might wake. But she could not stay caged up in here, that much she knew. Sinking down beside the doorframe, she heard Rebekah emerge and try the door handle.

“It's locked!” Rebekah whispered through the keyhole. “What is wrong?”

“I need help,” Maryam whispered back, her apprehension rising at the thought of others being roused. “Please. Get me out.”

“I'll find Mother Michal—”

“No!” Maryam rose to her knees. “Please, it's you I need. Just get the key.”