Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) (13 page)

“How do you feel about going back?” she asked Lazarus, trying to distract herself from these doubts.

Lazarus rubbed his chin as he considered his answer. “Nervous. My father's not a man to cross.”

“Surely your mother will be pleased you're safe? She'd not let him harm you.”

A bitter laugh erupted from his lips. “I wouldn't be too sure. Father is at least predictable, in that he'll hate me once he realises I'm on your side. I never know how Mother's going to react.”

On your side. He said it so matter-of-factly, as if there was never cause for doubt. “Do you love them?” Maryam asked, careful not to look at him for fear he'd close the conversation down.

“Love? Now that's an interesting concept. Do I love them?” He was so silent she snuck a peek, surprised to catch him studying her face. “Until recently I don't think I truly understood what that meant. You accused me of that, remember? In the cells at the camp?”

The conversation came back to her: they were arguing over Joseph's death.
Love? I doubt you even understand the word
. “I was angry with you—”

“Aren't you always?” he broke in.

She bristled. “You gave me plenty of reasons.”

“Gave or give?”

He was still staring at her so hard she could feel the intensity without even having to look.
Please don't
. She didn't want to spoil the night with this. “What does it matter now?” She adjusted the wheel slightly, feeling the yacht respond with an immediate increase in speed.

“Indeed. Why would it matter?” He stood up abruptly. “I'll sleep now. Wake me in a couple of hours and I'll do the midnight shift.” He disappeared down into the cabin before she could even respond.

For a moment she thought to call him back, to try to unravel what was going on inside his head. But caution restrained her. They couldn't afford to argue at this early stage. She hoped whatever was prickling at him would settle with some sleep.

Despite her fears that the weather might not hold, the winds were kind to them and the yacht made good progress over the next two days. They settled into a routine of four-hour shifts, going below to catch up on sleep as soon as each stint was up. With talking kept to a minimum and privacy maintained thanks to an ingenious toilet in the small space below decks right at the tip of the prow, there was little cause for tension or stress.

If Maryam had worried that Lazarus would take advantage of her proximity, she was surprised, if not slightly piqued, at how much he kept his distance. She'd hated how he used to so openly admire her in their last days together in the camp, but now that all sign of his admiration had vanished she was disconcerted—he obviously no longer saw her in this light, and that knowledge hurt. Yes, he had committed to help her, and she
was grateful not to have to take the battle on alone, but she was thrown by his new politeness and found she missed the chance to spar. And, while there was no cause for arguments, there also seemed fewer opportunities to laugh.

But all anxieties on this score were put aside with their first sighting of Onewēre toward the end of their third day at sea. As the sun set behind them the island appeared little more than a smudge on the horizon, but the sight of it filled Maryam with an array of competing emotions, from relief and happiness right through to trepidation and dread.

“How do you feel about trying to sneak in at night?” she asked Lazarus as they stood together at the prow and watched the island slowly taking shape.

“It's risky,” he replied. “We'd have to get the tide just right and know exactly where to find the gap in the reef.”

“The thing is, if we land in daylight we're sure to be seen. That means we'd have no time to speak with Mother Deborah before your father hears we're back.”

Lazarus nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. The trouble will be trying to identify all the right landmarks in the dark. How sure are you that you'll be able to tell where we are?”

“Not sure at all. But if we can locate the passageway through the reef near Mother Deborah's house at Motirawa, then we can take the yacht right up into the cave and hide it there, if the tide is right. Our only other choice is hiding it in the mangroves near the atoll, but that's way too close to
Star of the Sea
for my liking—I think trying to land there would be a big mistake.”

“Aunt Deborah's it is then.” He continued to stare straight ahead as Maryam marvelled at his lack of fight. The old Lazarus would've argued purely for the sake of it.

“You're sure?”

“Why not.” His tone was flat, as if he'd resigned himself to something, though she couldn't guess what it might be. Perhaps it was just tiredness—the four-hourly shifts at the helm must surely be taking the same heavy toll on him as they were on her. Exhaustion weighed upon her like a fallen tree, and she had to consciously prod herself to stay alert.

They needed to wait for the cover of darkness before they travelled any closer to the coast, but meantime proceeded to haul down the mainsail. With all seaworthy craft bar longboats banned by the Apostles and venturing outside the protection of the reef strictly forbidden, any sail spied on the horizon would cause a commotion they could ill afford. If they used the motor, they could continue to make slow progress to the island without fear of being seen.

Luck remained with them as the night settled in. The wind eased to little more than a gentle cool exhalation, and the moon, full two nights before, still shed enough light to help them navigate through the reef. Cutting the motor to rely solely on the small storm sail once again, they silently nosed around the coast, trying to identify the headland at the northern-most tip of Motirawa's bay. The smell of Onewēre wafted out to greet them, a deep earthy tang that whispered of the lush jungle cloaking the island's core. Maryam closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the unique perfume of the island to saturate her senses. Home. Her eyes welled up with grateful tears. She'd feared she'd never see the place again.

They'd been countering the inward push of the tide as they approached the island, but now they felt the invisible forces slacken before it turned. This was the perfect moment to cross the reef, so both of them began to search the water ahead,
looking for the calm amidst the chop formed as the tide rubbed up against the coral shelves.

“There it is!” Lazarus pointed to the break.

“Where?” Maryam squinted, trying to identify the passage. Only after he'd stepped closer, and she'd peered along the line of his arm, did she locate it. “All right. I'll steer and you stay up front to direct me,” she said. “Your eyes are better in the dark than mine.”

He nodded, not taking his focus off the break as she slowly lined the yacht up to slide between the lethal shelves. Her heartbeat clamoured right up in her throat and her hands grew slick with sweat as they edged into the passage, the only sound the sloshing of the water as it passed the hull. One minute…Two…She blew out a tense breath and tried to hold her nerve. Three minutes…Four…

“I think we're through!” Lazarus's voice was breathy with relief. “And I can see the river mouth now—just adjust the steering slightly to port…Yes, that's enough.”

Maryam felt a subtle shift in the steerage of the yacht, and guessed the tide was on the turn. They'd have to reach the cave as quickly as possible now, before the water grew too shallow to float the boat inland.

She followed Lazarus's instructions as she held the wheel steady to enter the narrow channel that ran between the huge rock formations which spilled off the headland down into the sea. They stood silent, like mis-shapen sentries, the moonlight glinting off the veins of quartz layered between the rough dark seams of basalt that had been spewed up from beneath the ocean floor. It was a strange feeling, gliding into Onewēre as stealthily as the deadly bakoas who stalked their prey out on the reef.

But just as they spied the yawning mouth of the cave up
ahead, Lazarus hurtled past her and leapt down into the cabin. Every hair on Maryam's body bristled with fear.

“What's wrong?”

“It's all right,” he said, reappearing up the entranceway. He waved a large dark tubular object, about as long and thick as his forearm, and pressed something on the side. To her astonishment a steady beam of yellow light emerged from one end. It was as if he'd harnessed a ray of the sun.

“What is it?”

“A torch,” Lazarus replied. He had no time to elaborate, however, racing back to the prow just as the yacht approached the entrance to the cave.

They still had a little of the storm sail aloft, but the yacht was floundering in the water and Maryam could feel the tug as the water started to recede. “The tide's turned,” she called. “We're almost at a standstill.”

“There's always the motor—”

“No!” Maryam countered. “We can't risk someone hearing it.”

She scrabbled around in her mind, trying to salvage the plan. She knew the cave, had swum into it with Mother Deborah when she'd first revealed Father Jonah's boat. With the tide this high, it was too deep to wade through to tow the yacht. Yet, if they waited for it to recede completely, the water would be too shallow to float the yacht right up to the secret internal beach.

“What say we drop some ropes overboard, tie them to our waists and swim? I'm sure we could tow it up that way.” It was imperative they made a quick decision. She could feel the tide pushing them back.

“All right,” Lazarus called back. “Drop the sail completely while I rig the torch up so we can see.”

He set to work lashing the torch to the bowsprit so its light snaked forward into the unearthly recesses of the cave. By the time Maryam had stowed the sail, he'd prepared two further tow ropes. Each of them tied a free end around their waist, then they lowered themselves over the side of the yacht. The water, just cold enough to raise goosebumps, looked black and fathomless, and Maryam had to summon all her strength of mind not to imagine great ghoulish monsters in its hidden depths.

Together they began to swim forward, straining to get the boat moving. Once they had, it shot forward at a surprising rate. But its momentum was haphazard and, before they could counter it, the stern slewed out and crashed into the side of the cave with a terrible graunch.

“Stop!” Lazarus shrieked. He swam over to her and trod water. “This isn't going to work without someone steering.”

Maryam closed her eyes, trying to concentrate without the distraction of the eerie wash of light that lit the sinuous rock formations, transforming them into something far more malleable and alive. Even so, the cave was populated with the subtle drips and shifts of the water, and the chittering of the dry-winged fruit bats that rustled in the crevices of the high vaulted roof.
Focus now, there has to be a way…

“What if we get the boat back into the centre of the channel, and then you go right over to one side and I go right over to the other, and we tighten our ropes so that it has no leeway to move to either side?”

“That'd be great if we just wanted to moor it, but…”

“Have you got a better idea?” She didn't mean to snap but she longed to get this over with—she was deathly tired and her
nerves were growing ever more jangly as the bats grew restless above them. Already it had been a long, long day.

“Probably,” Lazarus snarled back. “But since your ladyship is so convinced—”

“If you don't think it's going to work, just say so and come up with something else.”

“Forget it,” Lazarus said. “We'll do it your way.”

“Oh right. My way, so you can blame me if it doesn't work.”

Lazarus muttered something indecipherable, then dived under the water and resurfaced on the other side of the yacht. With one furious tug on his line, the boat shifted back into the centre of the passage.

After several more adjustments the plan seemed to work, but it was arduous and slow going to navigate around the columns that sprouted at the water's edge. Several times Maryam bumped and grazed against the razor-sharp rocks, and she began to feel as if she was negotiating the road to Hell, the weight of all her sins dragging behind her in penitence for every real or imagined sin.

But when, finally, the torchlight hit on the small pebbled internal beach, her spirits revived.
We've made it!
Onewēre at last.

They waded up out of the water and stood shivering on the shore. Maryam turned to Lazarus. His face looked drawn and yellow in the pool of light cast by the torch. “Welcome home,” she said, smiling her apology for her tired outburst.

He held out his hand, still unreadable. “The same to you.”

As she took his hand to shake it, she was struck by how cold and formal such an action seemed. She leaned forward and kissed him, dampening down the part of her mind that accused her of brazenness as her lips met with his salty cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “Without you, I wouldn't be here.”

A grin galloped across his face, then disappeared, chased away by the sneer that followed. “Now the fun times start. I can't wait to see my father's face.”

For a fleeting moment she had the terrible thought that Lazarus had planned it all, from the instant he'd blackmailed his way onto the boat until some future moment when he'd deliver her back to his father as a trophy to win his love. It was such a disturbing notion, bile shot to her throat. But this is foolish, she chided herself. Swallow it down and put such thoughts away.