Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) (28 page)

“I've kept you alive for years, for goodness’ sake—without me you'd be sitting up there with the Lord.”

“And I'm grateful for your expert care, Lilith, I really am. But you should know my indiscretions are recreation, little more.” For all that he kept his voice on an even keel, his eyes were darting around in their sockets, as though he sought some means of quick escape. “And this time, it's all about damage control—the girl means nothing. Nothing. In fact, why not do us all a favour and shoot her now.”

“You lying, scheming—” The rest of Lazarus's sentence was lost in a flurry of indecipherable words. He jerked forward in his chair, his drugged eyes imploring his mother. “Just leddus go, Mother, an’ I swear we'll leave.”

“Not a chance,” Mother Lilith responded. “Neither of you might care about our dynasty, but I refuse to let it fail.” She perched herself on the arm of a vacant chair, not for one moment dropping her guard. “Now, Joshua, you listen to me and listen well. You've grandly promised our people a marriage, so a marriage they shall have. What could be more gracious than announcing that you're welcoming the revelations of our Blessed Sister here by marrying her to your only heir.”

Father Joshua snorted. “That's preposterous! What could that possibly achieve?”

“I'm up for it,” blurted Lazarus. “Suits me jus’ fine.”

Now it dawned on Maryam what Mother Lilith meant. She shook her head. Why would she suggest such a thing?

“For a start it will dampen down the villagers’ calls to reward the slut, while ensuring both she and Lazarus remain under our control. But, even better than that, you will say the Lord insists that your sole heir marries a virgin, which I have no doubt the scheming little witch will claim to be—or else the villagers will lynch her of their own accord. After she's sworn her purity before the congregation, all we have to do is prove that she has lied. It's easy: once consummation is completed, the father of the groom must inspect the sheets for blood. No blood and she is proved to be a liar—and then they'll buy the line that she is lying about everything else. Then you get your chance to play with her. Then you have no choice but put the lying whore to death.”

Maryam tried to make sense of Mother Lilith's words, but
the toddy mired her thinking—all she could comprehend was that one last word. It tolled inside her brain until it drowned all other rational thought.

“What makes you so confident she's not a virgin?” Father Joshua asked.

This Maryam understood. How dare they? She opened her mouth to speak, but Mother Lilith got in first.

“You forget that I examine every Sister when they Cross. The speculum does an ample job…”

Speculum? What does she mean? Maryam cast her mind back, straining to dredge up memories of her Crossing. She remembered the ceremony, where Father Joshua stripped her bare. And how the toddy knocked her out. But then…but then…Suddenly the image blossomed in her brain: Mother Lilith descending on her with that awful metal device…drawing up her knees before she plunged it in…The pain. The total humiliation…The stain of blood upon the bed…May Mother Lilith rot in Hell.

But Father Joshua was laughing now. “I have to give you credit, darling, it's not a bad idea…The only trouble is, I've already told the Apostles—”

“And I've already made my new plans known. They are preparing the maneaba at Kakaonimaki as we speak, while others are busy spreading the word. You either play along with this, Joshua, or I swear I'll end your dallying once and for all.” She fiddled with a mechanism on the gun, making it click loudly as she angled it to fire at his crotch. “You have all of five seconds to make your choice. One…two…three…”

“Wait!” Father Joshua rose from his chair. “No need for threats, Lilith. It's an excellent plan. I'm at your sole command.”

“Just know I won't relinquish this gun, husband, until you see this through. One step wrong and it's all over…”

Father Joshua rounded the table, his face lit by a teasing smile. “Do you know how absolutely divine you look when you are riled?” He stepped across the short divide between them, his hands still raised above his head, until only the space taken by the gun kept him from her. He leaned toward her, allowing the weapon to press against his chest as he kissed her on the lips. She dropped her arm, removing the threat, and wrapped herself around him to return the kiss.

“You two disgust me!” Lazarus shouted, his cheeks slashed with red. “I hate you both!”

They turned to him in unison, their faces matched in callous disregard for his torment. Mother Lilith swung the gun toward Maryam as she addressed him. “One move, dear son—one word out of place—and I'll shoot your little girlfriend here right in the head. Do you understand?”

“You make me sick.”

“Sick or not, you'd better learn to keep your mouth in check.” Mother Lilith returned her attention to Father Joshua, straightening the collar of his shirt. “Come. We are expected in the village. Brother Luke and Brother Paul can escort the happy bride and groom.”

“Indeed.” Father Joshua kissed her pale cheek. “There's nothing like a good wedding to capture people's hearts.” They moved off toward the door now, arm in arm, Mother Lilith tucking the gun into the waistband of her skirt. “Have you ordered plenty of toddy?” he asked.

Mother Lilith laughed. “Enough to keep them drunk and orderly for weeks!”

They swept from the room.

Maryam was dumbfounded. She turned to Lazarus, who was watching her with mournful eyes.

“I never should've brought you back,” he said, his voice still slurred.

“It's not your fault.”

There was too much going on, too much blurring at the edges of her thoughts, to bother saying more. If she'd still had faith, she supposed she'd ask for miraculous intervention right about now. But, even in her confused state, she knew this had as much chance as praying for Joseph's immediate return. Joseph. The thought of him still brought tears to her eyes. Yet even he couldn't have prevented this.
The only one to blame is me
.

Now the same burly server who had bound them returned with another to release her and Lazarus from the chairs. With practised efficiency, they tied their prisoners’ hands tightly behind their backs before releasing Lazarus's ankles so that he could walk. There was no hope of breaking free: both men fingered sharp bone-handled knives to make it clear that any attempt to escape would be met by pain.

The older man, Brother Luke, draped the filmy veil back over Maryam's face and pushed her forward, leaving Lazarus and Brother Paul to stagger on behind. She could still feel the impact of the toddy on her legs, as though she'd just stepped off the yacht after three weeks at sea. Everything seemed to shift beneath her feet, and any sudden movement sent sickening waves right through her. The diffused images caused by the veil were her one reprieve: while people around them whispered and tittered as she and Lazarus were frog-marched past, she was saved from having to meet them in the eye.

Not so for Lazarus, who took each sideways glance as a personal affront and let each watcher know exactly what he thought. By the time they had descended through the bustling atrium, his guard had bared his knife and held it, tip to the small of Lazarus's back, to hush him up.

They were led down another of the interminable musty corridors, before being lowered to the causeway far below. A steady stream of Apostles and servers were also heading landward, making their way toward the maneaba in the village beyond. The causeway bucked and heaved under their combined weight, and Maryam lost her balance several times. Only Brother Luke's vice-like grip prevented her from falling. Around her, the sea seemed to whisper its discontent, slopping up against the bamboo slats as an off-shore breeze plastered her veil to her face, moulding on a whole new layer of pure white skin.

When at last they stepped back onto land, they found Kakaonimaki bursting with people from all over the island, just as it was each Judgement time. Everywhere buzzed with a frenzied air of excitement. Many of the villagers who stopped to let Maryam's party jostle through called out congratulations, as if this preposterous marriage were a source of joy. But their elation only added to Maryam's swirling sense of doom: she was walking into a trap, and knew it. Her only consolation was that she'd shared the cure before they took her life.

As she approached the huge pandanus-thatched maneaba next to the chapel, Maryam stumbled, overcome. Her father, Natau, was there, supported on rough wooden crutches beside a worried-looking Vanesse and Lesuna, and the mute old woman Umatu. Has he forgiven me at last and come to take me home? Her heart swelled to see him, inflating with such hope it seemed to consume all other space
inside her. She was rocked by a great sweaty bout of nausea. Unable to draw the veil aside because her hands were tied, she could do nothing to reduce the splatter as she vomited frothy toddy-stained bile right at her father's feet. He flung himself backward, disgust pinching his face before he turned and limped away.

Tears streamed from Maryam's eyes to mix with strings of mucus running from her nose. Vanesse side-stepped the pool of vomit and rushed over to whip off the obstructive veil, bunching up the hem of her gown so she could wipe the sticky mess from Maryam's face.

“Why has he left?” Maryam sobbed. “Can't he see I need his help?”

Vanesse was unable to answer, for Brother Luke stepped in and ordered her away, reclaiming the reeking veil and placing it back over Maryam's head. Vanesse retreated into the crowd, anger firing in her eyes.

“Lord Bless you, Sister Maryam,” she called. “Remember we are here.”

Brother Luke prodded Maryam between her shoulder blades with the handle of his knife. “Move on.”

Lazarus had passed her by now, and was about to enter through the low doorway into the maneaba. Then Maryam saw his gaze alight on Hushai in the shifting crowd. He lunged for him, catching Brother Paul off guard just long enough to whisper something urgent in the old man's ear. But the blade was at his back again, the tip piercing the fabric of his shirt, and Lazarus stiffened, snarling as he was marched inside.

Now it was Maryam's turn to stoop between the two rough-hewn pillars to enter the cavernous building. Her head dizzied and pulsed, not helped at all by the enveloping stink of
vomit. The sweeping arch of the ceiling, latticed with strong carved wooden cross-beams, amplified a storm of hammering. Four servers were fixing between the beams a raised platform designed to enclose the newly-weds above the people waiting for proof of the consummation that would confirm the match.

Once their hands had been unbound, Maryam was purposely kept separate from Lazarus so that they were unable to speak. But he stared at her incessantly, and when he caught her eye he pressed his hand over his heart. His eyes were bloodshot and he swayed slightly. Others were gathering in the maneaba now. The Blessed Sisters from the atoll filed in to take their places by the altar at the far end of the building, while the attending Apostles and their families formed several rows right near the front. The villagers packed in behind them, until the maneaba was so full of people it could hold no more. Outside, around the low-slung openings that flanked the building, others pressed in tight, the buzz of excited voices swelling until they grew so loud they outdid the deafening chorus of Marawa Island's birds.

Although the toddy had left her drained and weak, Maryam's head slowly began to clear. Why had her father come, if not to save her? Was he seduced by word of his daughter's marriage to an Apostle, hoping it would somehow bring him extra gain? This made heart-wrenching sense. The only positive was that it proved the Territorials’ antibiotics had done their work. I have saved your life, Father, she thought, wondering why this did so little to salve her pain. What had she expected? That he would suddenly return to his senses, when he'd spurned her so completely all these years?

She tried to shift her thoughts away, and watched numbly as the servers began rigging drapes around the sleeping platform. What would happen when she and Lazarus were left up
there alone? In his weakened state she had little faith in his ability for self-control.

Behind her, there was an abrupt stilling of the crowd, and the Blessed Sisters began to sing.
When the Bridegroom cometh will your robes be white…
The song took on new meaning, taunting and tangling with Mother Lilith's words.
The speculum does an ample job…
She winced, memory of the pain so real she clutched her abdomen. Now, to compound her agitation, she was prodded to her feet as Father Joshua and Mother Lilith made their way through the crowd. Father Joshua took up his place before the altar, dropping to his knees to pray in a display of faith so false and sickening she longed to scream, but Brother Luke stood beside her and still fingered the knife.

The song came to its end and Father Joshua rose, beaming as he gestured for his men to bring Maryam and Lazarus forward. As soon as they were before him, the servers pushed them down onto their knees, crouching close behind them so neither could forget what lay in wait should they resist.

Father Joshua inhaled dramatically, his lips pursing as he rested his steely gaze on Maryam. His voice boomed out, flying to the very back reaches of the maneaba, perfectly pitched to reach each and every ear.

“Tell us, Sister, before the Lord and His faithful congregation—and before I give you in marriage to my only son—tell us all truly, when your bridegroom cometh, will your robes be white?”

Maryam was so shocked that he'd proceeded straight to this she couldn't answer, knowing she was trapped no matter what she said. Mother Lilith was right: if she told the truth, they'd prove her wrong regardless, yet if she admitted to defilement the villagers would tear her into tiny pieces like dogs scrapping over their kill.

She could feel the expectant hush build and begin to turn feral as she remained silent. The warrior in her railed against such public entrapment. Why was it even relevant that her maidenhood remained intact? Surely it was vastly more important that her heart was pure?

Beside her, Lazarus nudged her with his elbow, his eyes imploring her. “Say yes.”

The nervousness layering of his voice prompted her on, but Maryam was determined to tell the truth as it appeared to her.

“I am pure,” she said at last, projecting her voice so everyone could hear.

There was a collective letting out of breath as Father Joshua's face erupted in a triumphant smile. “As you hear our Sister's claim, my children, remember this from Proverbs in the Holy Book: Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” He stepped toward Maryam and Lazarus now, and held out a hand to each of them. An infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes warned them to play along or pay the price. “Come together then, my children, and let me join you in our Holy Rite.”

Maryam placed her hand into his, a shudder trickling through her as their two skins met. It felt as if she was ensnared in an awful dream, unable to break free of it no matter how she tried.

Now Father Joshua proceeded with the marriage rites, calling on the Lord to bless the marriage in His Holy Name. “Let us be glad and rejoice, and give honour to Him: for the marriage of the Lamb is come, and His wife hath made herself ready.” He passed between them the sacrificial cup, insisting that they drink the toddy that slopped inside. Maryam took the bitter drink into her mouth but spat it back into the cup under the cover of her veil. Lazarus had no such option, his father's hawk-like eyes upon him as he swallowed down another mouthful of the intoxicating toddy.

After Father Joshua had led the congregation in singing Blessed Lamb, he stood over Maryam, his stale putrid sweat mingling with the reek of vomit emanating from her hair and veil. “Remember, Sister, the Holy Book instructs us: A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent. For Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner.”

Always the woman deemed at fault, Maryam thought. What happened to male self-control?

Father Joshua now turned to Lazarus, inclining his head as though gifting his son great wisdom. “But women will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety. It is your duty, my son, as the upholder of this propriety and next in line to my Holy self, to implant a
child this very night, and to rout out any deceptions and sins you may suspect of your newly endowed wife—and should you find fault you must swear before the Lord to denounce her in the Apostles’ sacred name. Will you do as you are bid?”

Lazarus worked his mouth but made no sound. Furious, Father Joshua stepped in close to him and subtly lodged a brutal kick into the cap of his knee.

Lazarus startled, grunting from the pain. “I…I will.”

“And will you, New Daughter, promise to serve your husband and obey him, all the time adhering to The Rules set down by Father Saul after the Tribulation did its worst?”

As the words rang through Maryam's head and every cell inside her fought to disavow his words, she felt Brother Luke press close behind, reminding her that the knife still waited at her back. If she resisted now, the game was over—she had no doubt he'd take her life if Father Joshua gave the word. Was it worth the stand, or more prudent to bide her time? Struggle would only bring death all the faster, just as it did for fish trapped in a net, and she knew she was not yet ready to give in. They were only words, after all, forced from her under evil duress.

“I will.”

She saw Lazarus turn to her in amazement, and she could not resist the tiniest shake of her head to signal her defiance. He must understand she had no choice but to concede the words.

“Praise be to the Lord!” Father Joshua declared, and from the congregation Maryam heard the resounding cry, “Amen!”

While the last of the rites passed in a blur of ritual, Maryam tried to draw her scattered thoughts together so she could plan ahead. Soon she and Lazarus would be man and wife, ordered to
the loft above to consummate the union. Would he be strong enough to resist the temptation his father had condoned? She fixed her gaze on him, noting the beads of perspiration that slicked his top lip and the way his dilated pupils swam as he looked at her. What was he trying to tell her? She could see the lump of his larynx race up and down, and realised that he, too, struggled with the nausea the toddy induced.

Then, at last, Father Joshua declared the marriage made, and ordered them both to rise and seal the union with a kiss. Maryam eased herself up to her feet, careful not to shock her head, while Lazarus stumbled beside her as he rose too fast. He teetered at her side, then lifted the veil so that it masked their faces from the crowd. He leaned in toward her, his lips puckered and ready—but as he drew close she saw him crinkle up his nose and turn away.

“Vomit,” he muttered, sending a fire of heat up to her face.

“Kiss her,” Father Joshua hissed, placing an arm around each of their shoulders. He raised his voice to encompass the expectant crowd. “Let us hope that in the sanctum of their bedroom they are not so coy!”

Laughter rippled up around them as he pressed their bodies close. Maryam had no choice but to kiss Lazarus, knowing that her breath was vile. His lips were rough, as though he'd gnawed at them. Their connection was devoid of any feeling except shame.

Behind them the congregation exploded into noisy celebration, stomping feet and loud applause interspersed with spontaneous outbursts of song. While toddy was distributed, Brother Luke took Lazarus by the arm and guided him toward the wooden ladder. Unbalanced by the double dose of drink, Lazarus
struggled to negotiate the rungs, and had to be supported as he staggered toward the top. Then Father Joshua called forth Mother Lilith from the crowd, directing her to escort Maryam to the loft. Behind him, Maryam could feel the cold presence of Mother Lilith at her back. She had to concentrate on every step, knowing this woman would have no qualms about leaving her to plunge from the ladder should she miss a step.

A sleeping mat had been prepared for them upon the floor of the loft. It was covered in a neat white sheet, and blood-red bougainvillea petals were strewn across it like fresh drops of blood. Maryam felt Mother Lilith's fingers fiddling with the button of her gown at the nape of her neck, and before she could grasp what was intended, Mother Lilith tore open the seam to leave the garment gaping. Maryam tried desperately to trap it around her nakedness before it slipped onto the floor.

“Leave it!” Mother Lilith ordered, tugging the fabric from Maryam's fingers and wrestling it free.

Maryam shot past the sleeping mat, wrapping herself in one of the drapes that formed the makeshift walls as Mother Lilith thrust the shredded gown through a gap, to be received by the salacious cheers of those who waited down below.

Now Lazarus was in Mother Lilith's sights and she stood calmly before him, Brother Luke unyielding at his back. She stripped him of his shirt and pants, leaving him hunched over, his hands spread in protection over his private parts. His clothes, too, were flung down to the revelries below, another rousing cheer greeting their fall.

“If you try to escape you will be caught,” she warned them both, not a shred of sympathy or doubt evident on her hard-lined face. “You have one hour and then the consummation must be
proved.” A slow smile animated her lips as she addressed the cowering Lazarus. “You may as well enjoy it while you can, my boy.”

With this, she and Brother Luke descended the ladder, leaving Maryam and Lazarus naked and alone.

The drapes blocked out a good part of the subdued light that washed the maneaba, leaving the loft so gloomy the untanned patches of Lazarus's skin glowed a ghostly white. He lurched over to the sleeping mat, hampered by his protective stance, and slipped his hand under the mat, running it around until he gave a muted cry. “Yes!” He unearthed a knife, flourishing it at Maryam. “Perfect! I knew he'd somehow come up with the goods.”

A terrible foreboding overpowered her. Her pulse beat so fast, each seemed to piggy-back on the one before. Lazarus took a step toward her, brandishing the blade. Oh Lord, was he going to force her to succumb?

“Please,” she said, feigning calm so as not to incite him. “You don't have to do this…”

For a moment he just stared at her, unfocused, and all her old dread of him flooded back. “You think I'm going to force you to lie with me?” He curled his lip as though he'd met with something foul.

“I hope not,” she said. Her hands were trembling as she tucked a wisp of vomity hair back behind her ear.

“I can't believe you. What on earth do I need to do to make you trust me?”

“Try putting down the knife.”

He pointed at her with the blade. “You really think I'd use this on you?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Her head was pounding again, her stomach sick.

With a sudden lurch he reached forward and grabbed the sheet, using the knife to pare off a strip of the fabric to cover his crotch. Then he tossed the rest of the sheet to Maryam, who needed no further encouragement to wrap it tightly around her like one of Aanjay's sarongs.

Feeling a little less exposed now, she left the protection of the drape and hovered near the mat.

“I asked Hushai to get someone to plant the knife—it was the only way I could think to shed some blood.” He turned the blade on himself then, driving the tip into the fleshy pad of his palm as he clenched his teeth to bite back pain.

Blood welled from the wound, and he pressed it to increase the flow before he reached over and smeared the sheet Maryam wore with red.

“You didn't need to do that!” She was staggered that he'd wound himself for her—and swept by a wave of relief that his intentions were so honourable after all. “I still have my Bloods!” Had he forgotten her quest for sea sponges as they set off for the Judgement? Either that, or he wasn't quite as worldly as she'd once thought.

“You do?” This seemed to derail him for a moment. “Oh well,” he shrugged. “Better my blood spilt than yours.” He slipped the knife back under the sleeping mat before sinking his face in his hands to rub his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “I'd kiss you if I didn't stink of sick.”

“Another time!” He grinned for a moment, before a toddy-laced belch erupted from him and he grew more sober. “I'm sorry I scared you. I just didn't want the blood to be a problem. I know that you and Joseph—” His words petered out as he watched her through lowered lids.

“But we didn't!” she told him. “I thought you knew.”

“But that last night on Marawa Island—”

“I lay beside him, nothing more.” The memory detonated in her mind: Joseph's struggle to accept her decision not to join with him; the sense of peace as, later, they dozed nose to nose. “In truth, I wish we had now, but in fact the only person to defile me was your mother, with that speculum…”

“That what?”

Had the toddy so fuddled him he'd not heard or comprehended his mother's words? She could feel herself blushing now. “Never mind,” she said. It seemed he merely sought to protect her, believing she had slept with Joseph. Amazing! No moral judgement. No accusations that she was a whore. She sidled over and sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around his naked shoulders while making sure her mouth was nowhere near his nose. “Bless you, Lazarus. I owe you much.”

He brushed his fingers down her back, clasping her tightly to him as he gently rocked them both. The gesture was so soothing and comforting she didn't feel compelled to pull away, instead tucking her hand into the warm line of his neck, twining her fingers in his fine silky hair.

He pressed a dry kiss onto her bare shoulder, turning his face toward her as if he sought her lips, but then he snorted and pulled away. “Sorry, but you do really stink!” Still, he refused to let her go, stroking the centre of her back in a mesmerising circle beneath her thick fall of hair. “I wish we'd found ourselves here without coercion,” he murmured. “There's no one I'd rather be here with than you.”

She didn't know what to say to this, and her silence amplified the revelries below. His touch did not repulse her now—in
fact it radiated warmth, like one tiny speck of light igniting in a blackened room, rekindling some semblance of love and hope. She leaned over, toppling him so they lay together on the mat, and squirmed around until her shoulders pressed against his chest. Little by little his arms wound around to cradle her in his protective embrace, and she melded with the curve of his body as he sank his face into her unbound hair, feeling how he stiffened beneath the two scant layers of sheeting that separated him from her.