Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) (32 page)

She had no argument with this: indeed, at this moment the strange bid for succession was far less important than trying to salve poor Lazarus's pain. It truly hurt to see him so shattered. No matter how terrible Father Joshua and Mother Lilith had been, they were his only family, and they had died right in front of him. And now he was cast adrift—with the heavy mantle of Holy Father foisted on him as well. She slipped in behind the throne, glad of the shelter it gave her ridiculously clad body, and placed her hand on his shoulder so he'd know she was there.

Beyond the snaking trail of devoted villagers, several of the Apostles were now joining the queue. It was incomprehensible how quickly the tide had turned: one moment she'd been about to be torn asunder by a rabid crowd, the next the whole world flipped upside down. To think her father, so steeped in all his superstitions and so-called piety, should be the one to flip that flow back in her favour, and then Mother Elizabeth…Never in a million high tides would she have guessed this…Still, she couldn't help but dwell on how stupid and naive she'd been to think she could tell the truth and everyone would fall into line. She'd put no thought at all into the reality of where that line might lead. Hushai's admonishment had changed all that in an instant, making her childish lack of forward planning more than plain. Yet, even if she'd had a plan, cajoling Lazarus to take on the role of Holy Father would never have occurred to her—or him. It was as crazy as a shoal of tiny reef fish impersonating an enormous bakoa to scare the real one away so they could live in peace.

Maryam was brought back to the present by the feel of
Lazarus's cold fingers on her hand. He glanced up at her, his eyes red-rimmed. “You have to get me out of here.”

She knew it was foolish—and dangerous—for him to leave at such a crucial time. His presence was required to keep the situation under strict control. But the desperation in his eyes was hard to bear. Besides, he looked to her for help and she didn't want to let him down. He needed her—needed to know that he was not alone.

“Just let me summon Hushai, then I promise you I will.” She looked up then to see Mother Elizabeth lowering herself awkwardly before Lazarus. “Please, don't,” Maryam said, aware of how strained and tired the pregnant Mother looked up close. She stepped around the side of the throne and helped her back up to her feet. “Thank you. What you did was very brave—in fact, I think I may well owe you my life.”

“Thank you. You showed me how.” She pulled Maryam to her and rubbed her thumb tenderly down Maryam's cheek. “I'm proud of you, te bebi, for standing up for what is right.” She drew back and held Maryam's gaze. “Now I offer you a word of advice: do not delay in calling together all the chiefs and the Apostles to lay out your rules. You must show decisiveness or Mother Michal and her friends will rise once more.”

“My thanks again. I'll see what we can do.” She squeezed Mother Elizabeth's hand once more, then let her go as others pushed forward to ingratiate themselves at Lazarus's feet. Now she cast around for Hushai, and spied him over near the auditorium doors.

“I'll be back in a minute,” she reassured Lazarus.

Hushai had his arm around his brother, Kokoria. They looked like two wrinkled seeds plucked from the same desiccated pod.

“Hushai,” she said, moving as close to him as she could. “I must get Lazarus away before he cracks.”

Her old friend nodded. “I understand. Take me back up there quickly and I will ease his way.”

As she led him through the milling crowd and back up to the stage, Maryam told Hushai of Mother Elizabeth's warning. “She is right,” he agreed. “This must be dealt with straight away—so fetch the conch and blow it once again.”

When the long note came to its end and all conversation had ceased, Hushai addressed the crowd. “The Holy Father and Mother must now attend to the dead. Tomorrow at noon they will lead the funeral rites and then convene a meeting of all the village chiefs. Meanwhile, go back to spread the word to every soul on Onewēre: Te Matee Iai is beaten and the time of Holy Father Lazarus has come. Praise be to the Lord!”

A rousing cheer filled the auditorium, then the villagers began to leave. Hushai fixed Maryam with his opaque stare. “We have organised a watch over those who still might do you harm, but I think you'll find that most of the Apostles are just as compliant to the Rules as everybody else.” A wondrous smile broke out on the old man's face. “Lord in heaven! I never thought I'd live to see this day!”

“We are far from free yet,” she reminded him. “While The Rules are still in place and Lazarus must live this lie…”

“One step at a time, child. Then, little by little, start to alleviate the wrongs and celebrate the rights.”

“I don't know what you mean.” She had no time to figure out his riddles and rhymes when Lazarus himself was so desperate to escape.

“Find your feet slowly, then lead by example…share
the wealth and knowledge, and your generosity will win you respect and love. Then, and only then, can you start dismantling the many inbuilt wrongs.”

Her tired, overloaded brain could take in no more. No doubt Hushai was right, but all she wanted now was to get Lazarus away so that he could mourn the death of his parents in peace. She thanked Hushai for all his help, he reassured her again that any further attempts against them would be quelled, and at last she was able to guide Lazarus from the room. She had no idea where to take him, so allowed him to direct the course.

They followed the winding corridors to his parents’ private rooms. Lazarus halted outside the guarded doors. “Are they inside?” he asked the server.

“Yes, Holy Father,” the man replied, his gaze fixed respectfully on the floor.

“Lazarus,” he said. “My name is Lazarus.” He reached past the man and opened the door. “Just one minute, Maryam. I need some time with them alone.”

He looked so young, all of a sudden, no more than a small lost boy, but she knew better than to argue with him. She leaned forward and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

“If you need me I am here.”

Lazarus took a deep breath and entered his parents’ room, and all she could do was wait outside, imagining the depth of his confusion and pain. There was so much he'd have to resolve about them, just as she must now somehow reconcile with her father, knowing he'd never view her merely as his little girl—his only family. It seemed she was destined to be his leverage, the symbol of his elevated status over everyone else. Still, he had saved her, there was no denying this, and his quick-thinking in
declaring her scar a sign of divine intervention had been truly impressive, whether or not he believed it.

She squatted down to rest against the wall and closed her eyes. The impact of the last three days had wearied her right down to her bones. She knew she should be relieved—perhaps even elated—but the dream and the reality were not the same. Now, in one sense she was free, but a greater and even more formidable journey stretched out before her.

Lazarus startled her from an exhausted doze. She shot back to her feet, relieved to see a little colour had returned to his face.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Come on, my own rooms are just down this hall.” He took her hand and led her on toward another set of panelled doors. He pushed one open and stood aside to let her through.

“Welcome to my world.”

His rooms were identical in layout to his parents’: faded soft furnishings scattered with books and clothing, and large windows looking across a balcony to the sea beyond. Above it, the sky was softening with the first orange tinges of sunset. Could it really be this late? Through another doorway Maryam saw a neatly made bed, and it was to this that Lazarus seemed drawn, throwing himself onto it and flinging his arm across his eyes as though to block her out.

Maryam hovered uncertainly in the doorway, suddenly very aware of the makeshift nature of her clothes. She studied the room again, and spotted a bathroom off to one corner. Her eyes fell wistfully on the empty bath.

“Come here,” Lazarus called to her, patting the bed beside him.

She edged over, sitting herself down on its very edge and taking up his bloodstained hand. “How was it in there?”

“They have been lain out as though they sleep, with covers over the wounds.” He pinched the corners of his eyes, as though plucking away tears, and looked up at her. “I can't believe how much it hurts, considering they never loved me.”

“Your mother did. When it came to the point, she could not kill you. This is what you must hold onto: she shot him to protect you, then killed herself in order to step out of your way.”

Lazarus snorted. “You see good in everyone, but I know better. She loved Father and Father only. But she realised he'd never stop preying on the Sisters, even when the excuse of Te Matee Iai was gone. This is what she could not bear.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Don't worry. I'll be all right.” He reached up and tugged her over, until she lay beside him, her heart tripping over itself as it tripled its beat. “What happens now?”

“I guess tomorrow you preside over their funeral and then you—”

“No, about us. Do you think we're still married?”

Maryam shot up again. Did he wish to undo their vows? “I don't know. I suppose, as Holy Father, that decision is now up to you, like everything else.”

Lazarus wedged himself up onto one elbow and studied her. “Come on. We both know you're far more suited to sorting out this unholy mess than I am. I'll agree to be Holy Father in name only, purely to stop total chaos, until such time as you see through your plan.”

“But I'm only a fift—no, sixteen-year-old girl.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” He released one teasing chortle. “I have no doubt you'll do just fine.” He sat up again, so close to her she could hear his rapid breaths. His eyes looked dark and serious, despite the smile still fading from his lips. “If
you want me to release you from this marriage, Maryam, you only have to ask.”

“You want to be rid of me?”

“I want you to answer the question for yourself. I'm tired of trying to force love from people who have no wish to give it back.”

She cleared her throat, stalling as she searched for the most diplomatic words, but it was pointless. She'd just have to spit out what was foremost in her mind.

“You know I'll never stop loving Joseph?”

He sighed. “If it's any consolation, neither will I.”

“I don't know,” she said, stalling again. “I can't—” As she paused to take a breath and blurt it out, she saw the impact of those first two words. He started to slump, defeated, and in panic she grabbed roughly at his arm. “No, listen…what I was about to say is that I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with.”

There, finally it is admitted and said.

He froze, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Then, very slowly, his face broke into a smile. A truly happy smile. “You mean it?”

She nodded, feeling her own face drawn into a smile as well. He understood. She did not have to choose. Could love them both. And when he leaned over and kissed her—gently and respectfully—she didn't pull away.

When they broke apart, Lazarus flopped backward again, beaming like the sun, and tugged her back down too. He reached for her arm and held it out, running a finger along the prophetic scar. “If that's a J, then I'm the Holy Father,” he joked. He stretched up and kissed it, all the while grinning, before shifting his attention once more to her mouth.

Finally, in need of air and a moment to gather her emotions, Maryam pulled away. “You know what I wish?” she said.

He shrugged, his pupils so dilated his eyes looked black. “For tomorrow to be over? Believe me, I wish it too.”

“Yes, that, of course. But right now more than anything I'd love a bath.”

Lazarus laughed so hard he fell off the bed and clattered onto the floor, all straggly limbs and bones. “Say no more.” He clambered back up. “I'll go and fetch some hot water now.”

“Don't be silly. You don't have to—”

“Oh yes I do. I need to do something—anything—before the sight of you in my room half naked drives me mad!”

After he'd gone she rose from the bed and crossed to the doors that led out to the balcony. She wrenched them open and stepped out into the tangy evening air.

One day, she sent across the sea to Ruth, one day I promise we'll return and bring you and your baby home
.

She drew in a deep salt-laden breath, closing her eyes as she felt Onewēre's magic fold around her like a second skin. Hushai was right: she could not force change overnight, but one day, if she was mindful and her intentions were right, the wealth of this beautiful island would be fairly divided and everyone would have their rightful share. No more damning Rules, just kindness and a willingness for people to live however they chose, so long as it did no other person harm.

And though the next few days, weeks, and possibly months would be as hard as those she'd just endured, she knew she had the strength, and the love of Lazarus and all the other good people in her life, to help her through. It all came down to that little word “love.” She had to show it. Practise it. Always act
with love at the source of everything she said and did. If she could really do this, and get others to do the same, anything was possible.

She looked out at the reef, where the sea rubbed up against the millions of other tiny lives that formed the age-old coral shelves, and quietly gave thanks.

When we make non-violence a way of life, the first question we ask at a time of conflict is “what is the most loving thing to do?”

(Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.

(Margaret Mead)

My grateful thanks to Lou Anders and the team at Pyr Books, to Joe Monti, and to my family, whose love and support I value above all else.