Into the Wilderness: Blood of the Lamb (Book Two) (6 page)

Behind her, Ruth laughed. Maryam glanced back, expecting to see that Ruth had been spying on their game. But she was still up near the edge of the jungle, laughing as Lazarus tried unsuccessfully to light a fire. And he was playing to his audience, striking the flint with such a pompous lack of skill it made Maryam smile as well.

“He should hand the flint over to Ruth. We've been lighting fires like that since we were small.”

“He used to know,” Joseph said, standing now to brush the coating of wet sand from his legs. “When we were little he used to come and stay with us. My father would show us how to hunt and fish, and make a fire from almost nothing to cook what we had caught.” He offered his hand to Maryam, but still she had to suppress a groan as she straightened out.

“You like Lazarus, don't you?” she asked as they walked back to join the others.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I do. Until the last two or three years we were as close as brothers, and then something—I don't know what—seemed to come over him. He changed.”

“He scares me,” Maryam said. “I don't trust him at all.”

“Give him a chance. I think maybe he'll be better now he's free of his father's expectations.”

“I hope you're right,” Maryam said, though her doubts remained. She knew the other side of Lazarus's behaviour—had experienced it firsthand.

They had reached the makeshift fireplace Lazarus and Ruth had built from scattered rocks.

Lazarus glanced up. “Right about what?” he asked.

“That I can teach you how to light a fire properly,” Joseph joked. He snatched the flint from Lazarus's hand and went to work, whooping with delight when a spark caught in the mix of twigs and dry leaf-litter at his second strike. He blew gently on the smouldering kindling, and fanned a tiny flame to life. “Now,
that
, cousin, is how you start a fire!”

Maryam and Ruth applauded, while Lazarus took his defeat in good grace. He even volunteered to scour the beach for burnable wood, hauling over great logs as Ruth and Maryam filled their arms with brittle branches from the jungle's edge.

Soon the fire was built to a reassuring blaze, spreading a warm pool of light across the darkened beach. They huddled in its protective orbit, skewering the salted fish on sharpened sticks to heat. Behind them, the jungle pulsed with life. Noises that at home Maryam would have taken for granted—cracking sticks, rustling leaves, strange grunts and calls—took on heightened meaning now. Unknown creatures, even hostile islanders, could be out there watching…waiting…

At first they spoke of nothing more than memories of life back on Onewēre, seeking the comfort of much happier times. Ruth and Maryam told the boys of their childhood on the atoll after they were Chosen in the Judgement—carefree days coloured by the expectation of greater things once they Crossed to the Holy City to begin the Lord's work. When they could go no further, tacitly agreeing not to dwell on their lives after their Crossing, Joseph and Lazarus picked up the conversation.

To Maryam's surprise, the boys' lives sounded quite normal. Joseph told them about how he'd been brought up amongst the villagers, while Lazarus regaled them with stories of the mischief
he'd got up to in the Holy City. All the angry sourness faded from his face as his humour and storytelling skills took over, and Maryam began to see the person Joseph liked. Yet she held a little of herself back from him, mindful that he still could suddenly turn on her and revert to the cruel-hearted boy she'd come to know.

As the night deepened, tiredness stilled their tongues, and the enormity of what they might face in the days ahead started to hit home. Maryam stirred the embers of the fire with a stick, releasing tiny sparks into the cloying air.

“So what's the plan?” she asked at last, knowing she was merely putting into words what others were thinking. Although the throbbing of her tailbone had eased a little, thanks to their small supply of Mother Deborah's herbal tonics, and the grazes on her elbows had dried and stiffened to protective scabs, anxiety ached right through her like a wound.

“First we must locate that building,” Joseph said. “And then, if it too is deserted, I'm willing to climb up to the top of the mountain to see if there are any signs of other villages around the coast.”

“Is that wise?” Maryam had seen how, as the night progressed, he breathed less easily and a fine slick of sweat now gleamed in the firelight on his face and neck. She was sure he had caught a chill, and he had little in reserve to fight it.

Lazarus tossed another log on the fire. “That's stupid, cousin. I'll go. You need to rest.”

“I'm fine,” Joseph grumbled. “It's nothing that a good night's sleep won't fix.”

Lazarus rolled his eyes at Maryam and Ruth. “He's as stubborn as his father. You can see now why Uncle Jonah stormed
out when my father was proclaimed Holy Father instead of him. Like my dear cousin here, he too could not accept there were some things best left to others.”

“Stormed out? You've got that wrong,
dear
cousin.”

Lazarus shrugged. “Come on now. You know how much his leaving hurt my father, but if it helps you to believe otherwise that's fine with me. I'm tired. I need to get some sleep.”

He rose abruptly then, and stalked over to the boat. The others watched in silence as he dragged a sleeping mat from the thatched shelter and took it off into the darkness along the beach.

“What was that about?” Ruth asked.

“It seems he doesn't know Uncle Joshua threatened my father with death should he remain in the Holy City or try to interfere in any way.” Joseph slapped his hands against his hips as though to punctuate the end of the conversation before he rose. “I think it's time we all turned in.”

“But I don't understand,” Maryam said. “Both you and your mother told me your family left the Holy City by choice.”

“That's true as well. The path that Uncle Joshua was taking made them sick to their stomachs—but Uncle's threat left them with no other option.”

“Why have you never told me this before?”

“The threat extended to never speaking of it. It was not safe to mention until now.”

“But—” Surely Joseph's father did not believe his brother
really
would have him killed? What of family bonds? Then she remembered her betrayal at her own father's hands.
Family bonds did not always guarantee safety after all.

“Enough now,” he cut in. “Stirring it up again will do no
good. He's my cousin and we're stuck together, good or bad.” He began to collect more driftwood to feed the fire through the night. “I'll sleep here to tend the fire. If anything is roaming round, the flames should hold it well at bay.”

His tone discouraged any further comment, leaving Maryam no choice but to retreat with Ruth to the refuge of the boat. There they curled up on the sleeping mats, trying to ignore the way the craft tilted back towards the sea. After three nights rocked to sleep by the motion of the waves, they found it hard now to relax, with every tiny sound loud in their ears. By the time Ruth had finished her prayers, Maryam knew she wouldn't sleep. She just could not get comfortable. Her tailbone was too bruised to lie on, and her stomach still tender from her flight into the boat's side rail. Besides, she had much to think on. She waited until Ruth's breath had slowed and evened out before creeping from the boat.

Joseph lay by the fire, his eyes shut tight. His capacity to shake off his uncle's threat against his family amazed her—she was certain she did not have it in her to let such a long-term grievance go. Her father's rejection of her still swelled inside her like a boil needing to be lanced. This was what she loved about Joseph: the open warmth and generosity of his heart, so unlike her own.
Loved? No, put that foolish thought away.

She passed him by and made her way down to the sea. The tideline was alive with teams of questing crabs, reminders of that fateful night, weeks ago, the evening before she Crossed. She remembered how she'd felt back then, standing with her toes bared to the warm lapping tide as she stared out at the magical lights of the Holy City—the great fortress called
Star of the Sea
. How excited she had been. How filled with awe. If
she'd known back then what was to befall her, would she have gone so passively the next morning? She sighed. Perhaps. The teachings of the Holy Book and the Rules were hard to spurn.

And now here she was again, seeking the constancy of the tide to calm her in the face of more uncertainty. For a moment she envied the crabs, hidden safely in their hard protective shells, able to bury themselves beneath the sand as daylight neared. If only she was half as brave as Joseph thought.

Under the cover of darkness, Maryam shed her clothes and waded into the water up to her thighs. She twisted her thick plait of hair around her hand and tied it into a high knot atop her head, then sank down into the tepid sea until it cradled her in its buoyant arms. She did not venture any deeper, mindful of unseen predators, and rested her knuckles on the grainy sand to resist the gentle tugging of the tide. At first the salt stung her elbows but she knew that it would do them good. And it eased her strained muscles and bruises almost as much as it calmed her troubled mind. She looked up to the stars, charting her position subconsciously as she located the Maiaki Cross. Somewhere, way across the sea, it shone down on her father's home. Would he have been so angry and unforgiving if her mother had lived?

“Maryam, is that you?” Joseph's query shook her from her musings, and she bobbed down, hiding her nakedness as she tracked his voice. He stood at the edge of the water, backlit by the fire.

“Shhhh,” she whispered across to him. “You'll wake the others.”

“Hang on a minute! I'm coming in!”

Before she could argue, he had stripped off his clothes and
waded in, his hands strategically placed across the parts she feared to see. He squatted down and made his way across to her clumsily on bended knees. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “I just needed some time to think.”

He was right next to her now, the water lapping at his shoulders. “You look like a seal,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck stray tendrils of her hair back into her plait. His fingers lingered on her neck, cupping it, his thumb circling the fine curls at its nape.

She could hardly breathe. His hand slid to her shoulder, drawing her around until they faced each other, only a hand's width of lapping water between them. She knew she should pull away, put distance and propriety between them, yet she couldn't—
couldn't
. It felt as though the tide pressed up against her back to trap her there and she was powerless to intervene.

Never before had she been so conscious of her body. She knew Joseph had glimpsed it when Father Joshua stripped her bare before the entire congregation of the Holy City when she'd first Crossed. But now it really mattered to her, and she felt ashamed. She'd always been so small—Mother Elizabeth's “tebebi”; she'd been late to get her bloods and was still as lean and lacking curves as a young boy. Would he think her ugly if he saw her now?

The whites of his eyes shone silver as he leaned across the distance, every fraction of an inch heightening her apprehension, until he met her with his lips. All the strength in her legs gave way and she floated up against his chest, nipple meeting tingling nipple with a terrifying recognition as the kiss transformed to something so heated she truly felt that she would burst.

He drew back from her, panting, holding her gaze as his fingers slid down from her shoulders to tentatively brush her breasts. Even as her body trembled, her hands rose instinctively to push him away.

“Don't,” she whispered, barely able to find the air to force the word out past her lips.

His pupils were so dilated his eyes looked black. “Do you want me to go away?”

“Yes,” she said, then panicked. “No.” She didn't know. “It's just I'm so small and ugly,” she blurted.
Stupid.
That's not what she had meant to say.

“But you're beautiful,” he said. “You must know that.” He took her hand, rising to his feet so quickly she had no time to protest as he pulled her up as well. And now he grasped her other hand, hoisting her arms out from her sides to stop her as she tried to free them. “Oh Lord,” he said. “You have no idea
how
beautiful.”

She locked her eyes on his face, terrified to look down at his nakedness. She was a Blessed Sister, her body sacred and her life forever destined to be sacrificed to the Lord. It was a sin, this act—this wonderful and overwhelming act—her elders had told her it was not allowed.

“This is wrong,” she said.

He dropped her hands and instantly she shielded her pubic hair. “How can it be wrong?” he asked. “I love you.”

She closed her eyes.
He had said it, used the word!
But did his saying it make this right? She wanted more than anything to think it so—to take away the nervous hurt she heard now in his voice. Maybe if he
really
did love her…
how could something driven by such shared longing be a sin?
She stepped in close to him
and gently ran the palms of her hands along the muscles of his arm. His skin was so smooth, the fine hairs soft and downy as they rose in goosebumps at her touch. He grunted and pulled her to him again, crushing her with a kiss that left her in no doubt of his desire.

She was lost now, unable to think rationally. She pressed up against him as his touch explored her inch by inch. Gave herself over to it, her own fingers spider-walking down his back until they traced the hard curve of his hips. As his hand brushed past the hair that guarded her most private place, her eyes shot open in surprise.

There, over Joseph's shoulder, she saw a stark silhouette on the beach. Lazarus! Awake and watching.

With a tormented cry she pulled away, splashing through the sea. She didn't even pause long enough to scoop up her clothes—just ran back to the shelter of the boat, leaving Joseph totally abandoned to the tide.