Into the Wilderness: Blood of the Lamb (Book Two) (7 page)

The night seemed to last forever as Maryam drifted in and out of tormented dreams. Father Joshua was there, and the baying congregation of
Star of the Sea
. And her father's voice was there as well, ringing in her ears when she awoke fully just after dawn:
Take this faithless whore and cast her out.
At the time his words seemed so unfair, yet now she feared her actions last night proved him right.

How could she face Joseph now? She should have sought him out immediately, explained to him why she had run. Would he hate her? Would his love have died the instant she fled? With a heavy heart she forced herself to rise and seek him out. Maybe it was not too late.

Already the birds had started up their din, squawking and creeling above the chirp of the crickets warming themselves in the first rays of the sun. Maryam poked her head out of the boat's shelter. Joseph's sleeping mat lay deserted beside the smouldering remains of the fire. There was no other sign of him at all. Lazarus was there, though, swimming confidently across the bay. She released a long and shaky breath. How on earth would she deal with
him
? She had no doubt he'd use what he had seen the previous night to cause her pain. It was part of his make-up, plain as that—he could no more control his brutish nature than a snake or shark. Today, for sure, she'd be his prey.

She climbed down from the boat and tossed a few more sticks onto the fire to stoke it back to life. The smoke helped drive away the army of biting insects that swarmed around—already
her arms and legs were covered with inflamed itchy spots where they had bitten during the night. She peeled a pawpaw and ate it quickly, trying to soothe the terrible knot in her stomach each time she thought of Joseph.

Lazarus swam in to land some distance from her, and she turned her eyes away as he rose from the sea. A picture of Joseph in all his aroused glory flashed through her mind, and a stabbing ache ran through her.
Where was he?
But now Lazarus came striding up the beach towards her, wearing only shorts, his sleeping mat and shirt tucked under his arm. She could feel a blush roaring up her neck to consume her face, so busied herself by tidying the campsite, hauling Joseph's sleeping mat onto the deck of the boat and returning with a metal pot in which to heat some water to brew up a potion of te buka leaves that would stop her insect bites from festering. It would be good for her grazes too. Dear Mother Evodia had long ago taught her all about its special qualities for staving off infection in the humid heat.

Lazarus had stopped a short way off, and was staring intently at the hard-baked sand. He glared over at Maryam and, seeing she was watching, beckoned her over.

“I think you'd better come see this,” he called, his voice dripping suppressed rage.

She ran over to him, not brave enough to meet his eye, but scanning the ground to see what it was that held him there. As she approached, she saw something had been scratched into the hard crust of sand.
Gone ahead. Will climb the mountain on my own.

Lazarus rounded on her. “This is
your
fault, you stupid girl.” He slewed his foot over the sand, smearing Joseph's message with one angry sweep.

“I didn't do anything—”

“My point exactly.” He surveyed her as if she were a piece of rotting meat. “Couldn't you have just given the poor lovesick puppy what he wanted? Can't you see that he's ill?”

“I know he's got a chill, but he—”

Again he gave her no chance to defend herself. “How in all heaven can you be so blind?” He slapped his hands against his face, leaving white handprints on his sunburnt cheeks. “You had me fooled. I actually once thought you might have had some brains.”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?”

“He's dying, you imbecile. You think your blood has saved him—but if you really cared for him you'd have seen how he's succumbing to Te Matee Iai again.”

She was struck dumb, the pain of his accusation so intense she felt she'd been flogged.
Dying? No, he couldn't be.
She'd given him her blood, and the marks of Te Matee Iai had gone away—she'd seen this with her own two eyes. And yet…hadn't this been nagging at her all along, causing her to fuss over him so? Perhaps she'd known, but couldn't stand to face the truth.

“If he climbs that mountain now, in such a weakened state, there'll be no hope.” Lazarus looked furious, but Maryam was stunned to see tears wash across his eyes. “The effort will totally destroy what little resistance he has left.”

She wrapped her arms around her head, trying to blot out the truth of his words. If only she had closed her eyes again last night, given Joseph the one thing he most needed then to soothe his soul. Was it really so much for him to have asked of her—to share in his affection? She'd failed him. Failed the one person, besides Ruth, who'd only ever shown her honest unconditional love. She dropped her arms and raised her face, determining to meet her
remorse and faults head on. “I'll go after him,” she said, meeting Lazarus's scornful eyes. “If I hurry now—”

“Stupid
and
not logical,” he spat. “The last thing we need is you getting lost or injured in the jungle, while Sister Sanctimonious jumps at imaginary skulls and loses the plot again.” He scooped up his shirt and wrestled it over his wet shoulders. “No, we'll go together and we'd better do it straight away. Go wake Ruth.”

Maryam hated how he seemed to think he had the right to order her around. But she knew she had to swallow down her compulsion to defy him, for Joseph's sake. Time was short. She turned and ran, relieved to see that Ruth was already emerging from the boat.

“What's all the yelling about?”

“It's Joseph. We need to go after him, and do it now!”

“Go? Where has he gone?”

“We have to hurry. He's gone to climb the mountain alone.”

“So?” Ruth rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

“Please, just come.” Maryam grabbed for Ruth's hand, tugging her towards Lazarus, who waited at the jungle's edge. “I'll tell you all about it as we go.”

They followed roughly the same route as the previous afternoon, clambering over the ruins of the crumbling village with more confidence and determination now that they were better mentally prepared for its dire state. They were aided too by the improved light that filtered down through the trees as the sun rose higher in the sky.

As they walked, Maryam gave Ruth a quick censored version of the night's events, though left out her late-night swim. “The trouble is, we've no idea what time he left.”

“I doubt he'd be so stupid as to try to walk there in the dark,” Lazarus pitched in. “I reckon he most likely left just before dawn. That would make him an hour or so ahead at most—if you two are fast enough, we just might have a chance to catch him up.”

“But we've no idea which route he took,” Ruth grumbled.

“Then pray, Sister, that your Lord will help us find the way.”

As they approached the place where Maryam had fallen, Lazarus, who was leading, let out an amused snort.

“Nice one, cousin!” He pointed to the collapsed wall. There, strategically placed on top of the pile of dislodged stone, sat a disintegrating skull, its hollow eyes calling their bluff.

“I
told
you so,” Ruth crowed, before fanning her hand out from the side of her face to block the grisly sight from view.

Maryam, too, averted her eyes, needing no further reminder that they raced with death. The quest to find the people of this island was completely irrelevant to her now—there was but one life she was desperate to find. Lazarus's accusation banged mercilessly around inside her brain: Joseph's disappearance was her fault—
hers alone
. How could she not have seen that the plague was returning?

But then a tiny prick of doubt entered her mind. What if Lazarus was lying to her yet again—using her confusion and her guilt to punish her for his dislike? It was possible: he had no scruples and, although he tempered his behaviour in Joseph's presence, without him there were no guarantees. She found herself studying him for any subtle hint that might unmask
him at this game. But Lazarus's sense of urgency seemed real: he crashed through the undergrowth without restraint, clearing a path for her and Ruth in his wake.

For almost an hour they tramped in virtual silence, pausing only to yell Joseph's name. There was no response except the echoing call of the birds, crying out in alarm as the three trekked past. Lazarus was following some kind of track now, a thinning in the thick labyrinth of jungle that seemed to shroud the whole island.

The tumbledown village disappeared behind them as the gradient grew steeper. All three of them were panting, the humid jungle air sapping their strength; even strong-limbed Ruth fell behind Lazarus's breakneck pace. The girls had to concentrate to keep him in their sights as he pressed onwards. Then, as they pushed through a thicket of scratchy bracken, they almost ran straight into his sweat-soaked back.

He had halted, breathing hard as he stared up ahead of him. A crumbling stone stairway rose steeply from the jungle floor, two strange sculpted creatures flanking its point of ascent.

“I think we might have found our mystery building,” he said, sounding awed. He ran his hand over one of the statues, tracing the swirling lichen-stained relief cut into the stone.

Maryam had never seen anything like it: it looked like some kind of malformed dog, decorated with an intricately carved breastplate above the sturdy taloned feet of a bird of prey. Time had eroded the stone, and its crumbling edges had fallen away, but its threatening nature lingered still. Beside her, she heard Ruth start to pray.

“Come on then,” Lazarus insisted, launching himself up the uneven steps two at a time.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ruth muttered, seizing Maryam's arm to hold her back.

“We have no choice,” Maryam countered, but she squeezed Ruth's broad hand all the same. “We've got to find Joseph before he wears himself out.”

She tried to push aside her guilt, but it would not shift. Regardless of Lazarus's concerns for him, she had to locate Joseph and let him know how much she cared. And, if her worst fears were realised and Lazarus was right, she had to persuade Joseph to accept more blood. She had the means to save him, hidden back inside the boat, and would not rest until she did.

They ducked beneath the overgrown canopy of branches, stumbling on the loose slabs of stone that teetered and shifted beneath their feet as they climbed. Soon they reached a landing, again bordered by more fantastical creatures—this time two squat figures, their mouths twisted in leering smiles, fat pointed ears and long segmented noses that curved up like thick coils of rope. Beyond the landing rose another flight of steps, though its final destination was hidden by an enormous uprooted tree.

Lazarus was first to tackle it, using the forks in its branches as footholds to help him clamber up its side. As he crested the top and straightened up, he released a slow awestruck whistle and shook his head. “Holy Mother! You're not going to believe this.”

Maryam pushed Ruth ahead and hoisted her up to the first foothold. She followed quickly, her thigh muscles screaming as she stretched her legs to their limit to scale the gnarly trunk. Then Ruth in turn reached over to haul Maryam up before straightening to take in the view. “Oh Lord.”

Before them stood a tall gateway formed from tiers of sectioned
stone. The slabs were cantilevered in towards the centre, forming an arched supporting structure for a massive head. It was impossible to comprehend how the huge blocks of stone must have been laid in place, let alone carved to form the fleshy lips, broad nose and lidded eyes beneath the elaborate domed headdress that rose up to its pointed peak. Lush creepers sprouted from cracks and fissures in the stonework like unruly hair, while a patchwork of lichens gave the face a strangely lifelike hue: soft mossy greens colour-washed its eyelids, and a speckled array of blues and golds flushed its grainy sculpted cheeks.