Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) (20 page)

She left now, too upset to stay one minute longer. There was nothing left to do in Aneaba now, no reason to remain. Lesuna cured, her father on the mend…It was time to join Lazarus and finally—finally—front up to the Apostles and make her stand.

It was dark, and the night was closing in cold around her when Maryam reached Motirawa. Summer was over and soon, she knew, the chilling rains would come in from the south. She skirted around the outside of the village, having first checked whether Lazarus was camping in Mother Deborah's empty hut, but he was not. Now she picked her way through the rough rocky terrain that led to the cave where the yacht was hidden.

She could hear the restless shifting of the tide out on the reef and hoped she wouldn't have to swim into the darkened cave alone. Around her, the scraggly trees transformed to watchful sentries and she felt her senses sharpen to take note of every tiny sound. The idea of being caught now, with their plan so close to coming to fruition, filled her with dread, and every creaking and cracking of tree and stone grew to terrifying proportions inside her head, amplifying her nervousness about confronting Lazarus with the two new questions that had begun to plague her since she saw him last.

Finally she came to the entrance of the cave. She stopped, peering in. The smell of wood smoke filled the air, and orange flickers of light from deep inside told her Lazarus was there. But, though the tide was low enough to reveal the narrow track etched into the cave wall, she wavered. There was little help from the waning moon and she wasn't sure her sight was good enough to make it safely through without his aid.

“Lazarus,” she called, trying to keep her voice low and yet still project it deep into the earth's open mouth. She put four
fingers between her lips and pressed them down over her folded tongue, blowing out to send a penetrating whistle into the gloom.

After a few tense moments his equally shrill whistle answered her back. “Wait,” he called, and she heard the echo of crunching stones beneath his feet.

Then she saw the wide arc of torchlight dancing toward her out of the darkness, driving before it a cloud of fruit bats disturbed by its unnatural glow. They wheeled in the sky above her like a flock of avenging angels before dispersing into the night.

“You made it!” Lazarus stood before her now, his teeth flashing white in the torchlight's beam. “Come quickly, I have some hot food that should heat you up.”

He took her hand, his fingers warm to her touch, and led her into the cave. Huge stalactites sliced the shadows, creating populations of monolithic ancestors who seemed to watch over them as they edged further into the cave's depths, drawn toward the small internal beach where a fire crackled beneath the series of sinkholes that formed a natural chimney in the roof.

Only when Lazarus had settled her down beside the fire did he speak again. “So?” he said. “What is the news?”

Maryam smiled, anticipating the pleasure her news would bring. “Lesuna is recovering. It seems old Filza's cure does work!”

“It really does?” He scoured her face.

“It really does!” Her stomach did a happy flip as Lazarus beamed out his delight. “And she and Vanesse are travelling to Kakaonimaki by longboat for the Judgement, to help back up our claims!”

“Good news indeed!” He took a stick and hoisted a pot of fish stew off the embers, ladling her out a good portion into his empty bowl. “Here, you must be hungry.”

She took it gratefully and hurried the welcome meal down, feeling how the heat spread right through her until the night chill seeped away. “And you?” she asked, when every scrap of food had gone. “What have you been doing here?”

“I've reprovisioned
Windstalker
, thanks to old Koko, and caught up with all the latest news. It seems Father is insisting that everyone, young and old, attend the Judgement to cleanse them of their sins and to reinforce the threat of the so-called omen.”

Once again Maryam pictured the strange flying machine that had circled Marawa Island, unsurprised that its sudden appearance here had caused such great unease. Its presence in Onewēre's skies had been one of the things preying on her mind as she'd walked the long miles from Aneaba. She had dreamed of it too, a nightmare vision of the villagers being rounded up like the luckless people of Marawa Island and killed by the Territorials, all in the Lord's good name. Now that Lazarus had referred to it, she figured she may as well press him on the niggling concerns that had ambushed her as she'd made her way. Better to get them over with than have them flare up when there were other dangers afoot.

She turned from the hypnotising flames to search his face. “I have two questions but before you answer them, I want you to promise me you'll tell the truth.”

Lazarus stiffened, his jaw twitching as he met her gaze. “You still don't trust me?”

Truth, she realised too late, was a bad choice of word, guaranteed
to rile him. “It's not that,” she deflected. “I just don't want you to get angry with me when I ask.”

For a moment he said nothing more, but turned from her to glare into the fire. He wove his hands together and raised his two index fingers to a peak, tapping them as he thought through his response.

“All right.” Now he pointed one of his fingers straight at her to press his next point home. “But never, ever ask me to promise this again. I've bent over backward for you. I've sailed for days on end. I've turned myself inside out trying to please you and to make amends. If you don't trust me by now, then just forget it all.”

She felt heat rise to her face and shifted uncomfortably. Yet again, he was right. If he had demanded the same promise from her she'd have been furious, she saw that now. It was just that she didn't want what she had to say to anger him: his temper was just as fiery as hers.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled. “Please don't be cross, that's all I ask.” She waited for him to respond, but he merely sat there, his face stern. How long had she been here? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Could they never meet without rancour breaking through?

She sighed. So be it. The question she wanted to ask him first was not even about his actions, but her own. “Tell me,” she started, her throat suddenly so dry it nearly choked on the words. “The omen. Have I put everyone's life at risk by drawing the Territorials to our shores?” Her heart beat out a strident tattoo as she waited for his reply.

To her surprise Lazarus laughed. “Well, I wasn't expecting that question.”

“It's not funny. It's what you always warned me of. What you and Ruth always feared.”

“I thought you didn't listen to a word I say?”

“That's not true—or fair! All I want to know is this: what if they come back to enforce their will now they know we're here?”

He shook his head. “I don't know,” he said. “But I'm guessing that, unless one of us turns up seeking entrance to their Territories again, they'll prefer to leave us be.”

“You're sure?” She wanted to believe this.

“No. But they're already fighting skirmishes on more than enough fronts.” He reached over and took hold of her hand, turning it over so that her palm lay open in his. He ran his thumb across her skin. “One step at a time, eh? Worrying won't help.”

She stared down at their conjoined hands, her stomach contracting further with each stroke of his thumb. His nails were bitten right down to the quick, his knuckles scraped. The intimacy unnerved her—yet nothing in this gentle stroke could be construed as wrong. He was trying to allay her fears—her guilt—and she was thankful for his kindness, though it did little to relieve the churning in her gut.

“All right,” he continued in the face of her silence. “That's question one out of the way. What's question two?”

Maryam braced herself: this question would test their fragile alliance all the more. “The night we fled in Father Jonah's boat…” At her words he dropped her hand and she felt strangely bereft, forcing herself to continue but wishing she had never started down this dangerous route. “You told us you had warned the village chief.”

“I did not.”

“You did. And even Hushai's brother said they saw the boat. How could they have known if they hadn't been told?”

“I implied that I'd told them, that was all. I knew they'd be coming—they were out hunting for wild pigs that night and I knew they'd heard me crashing through the jungle, so I guessed they'd not be far behind.”

“This is the truth?”

The door to his goodwill slammed shut. He made to rise. “You doubt it?”

Maryam shot out a restraining hand, preventing him from stalking off. “No—listen…If you say this is so, I'll take your word.”

“Damned right,” Lazarus muttered. He threw another log of driftwood onto the fire, watching as the sparks wafted up into the air to hang there for a second, like dying stars. “And now, since you've put me to the test, I've one for you.”

Maryam drew herself a little tighter, waiting for him to pay her back. There was no guessing what he'd come up with, but she knew him well enough to steel herself for the next stoush.

“What?”

“Do you…like me…even just a little bit?”

He sounded so like a wheedling child she nearly laughed aloud. But she looked at him directly now. How much he'd changed since she'd first seen him all those months ago. The tension in him, the wound-up feral danger that he'd worn like a tightly fitting skin, was mostly gone. Beneath it, he was just a boy—a prickly one, no doubt of that, and one who'd tested her patience and her temper sorely many times—but, to her utmost surprise, she realised that on the whole she did like him.
His brain was quick and his emotions were strong.
Just like me
. How strange to have identified with him so closely twice in as many days.

“I do.” Now she couldn't resist teasing him. “Just a little bit.”

He grinned. “All right. Enough of this extravagant flattery, Sister Maryam…I think it's time to say goodnight.” He stood, stretching his arms high above his head as he yawned, exposing the soft white curve of his belly before he dropped them again. He offered her his hand and hauled her to her feet. “It's too cold to sleep exposed out here—I've made you up a bed inside the yacht.”

He walked toward the moored boat, calling back over his shoulder when she made no move to follow him. “It's quite safe. I've made up two separate beds.” He spoke with just a pinch of sarcasm, no doubt to let her know her wavering distrust of him was noted still.

“Good,” she said, playing along. “I'd hate to have to force you to sleep outside alone.”

The following morning Maryam awoke with her head filled with every possible variation on disaster the Judgement day might bring—disruption…disapproval…even death—while, over on the thin bench-seat across from her, Lazarus mumbled in his sleep, his hands shooting out as if to deflect something of great force. It seemed he too was fighting with his inner dread.

She also felt unsettled by his question to her, so similar to Joseph's as they'd sailed toward Marawa Island, just before
everything had descended into hell.
You know how much I care for you, don't you?
he'd whispered.
Do you like me too?
How strange to hear those words again, this time from his cousin's lips.

It was cold in the little yacht, so Maryam rose as quietly as she could. She wrapped the slightly fishy-smelling blanket around her, then clambered from the boat back to the inner beach. The first shimmers of dawn were filtering down through the sinkholes so she dared not restoke the fire in case someone spotted its smoke from the village, but the hearth still held some of its residual heat. She picked out a relatively soot-free stone and clutched it to her stomach, curling herself around it to soak in the warmth. That's better. The niggling cramps she suffered whenever her Bloods were due had struck her in the night, explaining why she'd felt so on edge the day before. No wonder she'd stewed so over the threat of the Territorials…There was something in the heralding of her Bloods each month that meddled with her moods, making her even more anxious than usual—although Lazarus would no doubt argue she was already difficult enough.

The timing could not be worse. They were travelling within hours to Kakaonimaki for the Judgement and she'd have no choice now but to stop and harvest several sea sponges to stem the flow. No way could she keep such intimate secrets from Lazarus now.

“Are you all right?” His sleep-tousled head emerged from the yacht's forward hatch.