Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb)

by Mandy Hager

  “Is this what you need?” he asked. He looked so pleased with himself, as if he was presenting her with a precious gift—which, indeed, he was.

  She examined the plants closely for evidence of the ripe seed pods, and her heart banged out its joy as she saw that he had chosen well. “That's wonderful,” she cried. She sank her nose into a dying star-shaped flower. Ah yes. This was the scent she'd remembered in the camp. Sweet, like honeysuckle, yet peppery and very strong. “Perfect!” she said, and Lazarus beamed.

  Hope somewhat restored, they set off again as the heat faded, using the last few hours of light to bring them to the start of the curving bay where Aneaba nestled beneath a canopy of palms at the far end. The sun was setting now and the sea near the village was sprinkled with fishermen setting their nets. Long streamers of wood smoke rose above the palms as cooking fires were stoked, and even from their distant hiding place Maryam and Lazarus could hear the clatter and racket of village life.

  When at last the beach was clear, they made their way along the tree line, stopping just short of the village huts. The smell of cooked fish and spices wafted on the air. Maryam tried to spot Vanesse, or her hut, but it was impossible to do so in the fading light. And the children remained uncharacteristically close to home, not one seeming to stray from the pools of firelight outside their houses. Was this the fallout from all the talk of Lucifer and omens—inflated fear designed to boost the status of the Apostles in the villagers’ minds?

  Maryam and Lazarus crept closer, and had almost reached the far side of the village when at last Maryam made out a familiar figure.

  “Lazarus,” she whispered. “There she is!” She pointed through the undergrowth to where Vanesse was stringing a line of wet clothing between two palms.

  “What now?” He laid the miriki-tarai shrubs down at his feet.

  Maryam stepped out from the undergrowth. “Vanesse? It's me. Sister Maryam.”

  The poor woman startled so badly she dropped the last of her washing onto the ground. Maryam rushed forward to retrieve it as Vanesse backed away, her hand flattened across her heart.

  “Dear Lord,” she muttered, the whites of her eyes trapping the very last of the light to set them eerily aglow. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…”

  “Vanesse,” Maryam tried again, draping the wet washing over the line. “Please don't be frightened. I have come to help.”

  Vanesse dropped to her knees and clasped her hands together as she prayed even more fervently than before. “Hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come…”

  “Maryam,” Lazarus hissed. “She thinks you're a ghost.”

  Of course! Maryam crossed to the kneeling woman in one stride and crouched down beside her, taking up Vanesse's hand even as she shrank away. “It's really me, Vanesse. I am not dead. Here—” She forced Vanesse's hand onto her own chest, so she could feel the desperate beating of her heart.

  For a moment all Maryam could hear was the thrumming of blood as it pulsed through her ears. Then, very slowly, she felt the woman's hand relax.

  “You are not dead, little Sister?” She rested back on her haunches, her gaze fixed on Maryam's face.

  “Not that I'm aware of!” Maryam smiled, warmth for Vanesse surging through her. Thank goodness not everyone she'd counted on for support was dead. Vanesse had defended Maryam against her father's wrath; nursed both her and Joseph in their hour of need. She reached her arms around Vanesse's substantial frame and embraced her, breathing in the sharp sweat of her dissipating fear. “It's so very, very good to see you.” She looked back over her shoulder and indicated for Lazarus to come out from hiding as well. “I have brought a…friend.”

  He stepped into the pool of light cast from the door-way of the hut, and Maryam felt Vanesse stiffen again.

  “Brother Joseph?”

  “No.” Lazarus squatted down beside them. “I am Lazarus. I'm afraid my cousin Joseph was taken by Te Matee Iai.”

  Vanesse shook herself from Maryam's grip and shot to her feet. “The Holy Father's son?”

  “It's all right,” Maryam reassured her, rising now as well. “He comes in friendship.”

  They stood awkwardly together as Vanesse processed Maryam's words. Then, after what seemed an age, Vanesse motioned for them to follow. “So be it. Please come inside.”

  They followed her into the candle-lit hut and immediately saw that another person lay sleeping within. Lesuna, Vanesse's cousin. She tossed restlessly on a sleeping mat, the ugly purple markings of Te Matee Iai standing out on her face and neck. Vanesse pulled a discarded blanket back over her, then indicated for Maryam and Lazarus to sit with her on the far side of the room.

  “I never thought to see you again,” she said to Maryam, keeping her voice low. “There was much talk of you when poor Mother Deborah took her life and it was discovered you had vanished with three of the Apostles’ faithful.”

  “Trust me,” Maryam said. “There is much to tell.”

  As the night closed in around them, Maryam began to unravel the whole tale, from her defilement by Mother Lilith when she first Crossed, right through to her journey back from Marawa Island on Windstalker. Vanesse's eyes grew round and welled up with sympathetic tears. Finally, Maryam ground to a weary halt. It was up to Vanesse now either to believe the tale and join them, or call for Maryam's father to throw them out.

  Vanesse looked from Maryam to Lazarus. “It is hard to comprehend such a place as you describe,” she said. “But it is also clear that you could not make such a story up.” She paused to rouse Lesuna long enough to help her drink a little water, then resettled beside them. “I have watched the Apostles closely since Brother Joseph first told me they were stealing blood. And, the Lord forgive me, but what I have observed backs up your claims. The truth is that since your disappearance there has been much discontent—whisperings that maybe you were not taken by the bakoas but, rather, fled for other shores. It seems the night you left a group of villagers claimed they saw a strange vessel pass out through the reef.”

  Maryam looked to Lazarus. “So they did catch a glimpse of us, just as we feared.” She failed to add that, at the time, Lazarus said he'd warned the village chief. From the way he refused to meet her gaze she knew he felt the accusation just as strongly as if it had been said, but now was not the time to clear that up. It will wait. She turned back to Vanesse. “Tell me, have you observed anything else?”

  “Two from our village have been seized by servers from the Holy City to be punished for their blasphemous acts—one merely for refusing toddy at a tithing ceremony, and the other for questioning one passage from the Holy Book. We do not know what has become of them, but no one has seen or heard from them since.” She swept her arm out, as if to indicate the world outside the hut. “It is the same all around the island. And, since the strange omen from the skies, the disappearances have grown worse.”

  Behind them, Lesuna moaned and threw her blanket off. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. “Will you let me try to cure her?” she asked Vanesse. “I cannot guarantee the potion from the miriki-tarai will work, but Lazarus is living proof that Te Matee Iai can be cured.”

  Vanesse nodded. “I think we should try it. After all, the worst it can do is hasten her death, and that would be a blessing in the end. It pains me to watch my cousin die and know that there is nothing I can do to help.”

  “This pain I understand,” said Lazarus, speaking for the first time since Maryam finished her tale. “What I would've given to have spared my cousin his distress.”

  “Then let us make a start to it,” Vanesse said, rising with such a sense of determination it propelled Maryam to her feet as well.

  “Tonight?”

  “Why not? Did you not say the potion has to steep overnight?”

  “All right. But each of us will have to…contribute…to the mix. We need two big cups of urine for the cure to work!”

  Lazarus groaned. “You're joking. You really want me to…maimai…into a cup?”

 
Maryam laughed. “You can do it into whatever vessel you choose, so long as we can measure the amount.”

  “Go drink!” Vanesse ordered, “while I stoke the fire.” She was already heading for the door when something stopped her and she turned back to Maryam, her eyes aglow. “You know what this will mean, if we can make it work?”

  Maryam nodded, feeling a grin stretch out and blossom right across her face. “It has to work.”

  The mute old woman, Umatu, stirred the embers of the fire, readying a flat base on which to seat the pot. Vanesse had insisted she be included in the making of the cure—as Aneaba's most senior healer she should, Vanesse argued, have a say in anything that might potentially put Lesuna's comfort further at risk. Besides, Umatu was wise enough to read the good in Maryam, and her silence was guaranteed.

  Alongside her, Maryam and Vanesse stripped the silken fibre from the seed pods of the two miriki-tarai shrubs, then plucked off all their leaves and bruised the stems by beating them with rocks before stripping them of their milky sap. All this they added to the pot, waiting only for Lazarus to produce the final cup of urine to mix with theirs.

  Finally he emerged from the bushes, brandishing a container filled with his warm frothy waste. “Why is it that when you want to go you can't?” he asked, scowling as Maryam and Vanesse broke into giggles and old Umatu opened wide her mouth and shook as though she chortled, even though no sound emerged. “All right, enough,” he grumbled. “I'm glad my private failings brighten up your night!”

  Maryam fought the nervous churning in her stomach as they stood around to watch Umatu place the pot onto the fire. There was so much riding on this—not only Lesuna's life but the entire plan. What if Filza's recipe didn't work? Maryam could hardly bear to think of it.

  As the strange brew came to the boil, a strong odour rose from the pot, reminding Maryam of the sweet milky smell given off by goats as they suckled their young. It was as if the heated miriki-tarai had absorbed the acrid stench of the urine, leaving only this pungent opaque stock.

  Umatu left the pot at a rolling boil for fifteen minutes, then put it aside to cool. There was nothing to do now but wait until morning, when Lesuna would be given her first dose—if she survived the night.

  “Now,” Vanesse announced, “we must find you somewhere safe to stay. We must not let your father know you are here.”

  Umatu shuffled over and looped Maryam's arm through hers.

  Vanesse laughed. “It seems our old one has claimed you! It is a good idea,” she told Umatu, before addressing Maryam and Lazarus again. “Umatu lives alone, just past the village. If you go with her, you will be safe.”

  “Tell me,” Maryam said, before she lost the chance. “I hear my father's health is failing too.”

  Vanesse's good humour vanished. “Ah, I wondered if you would have heard. I fear his wound is badly infected, and there is nothing more we can do. He suffers terribly but will not relinquish his control of the village, even though young Moreese is ready to take up the call.”

  Maryam felt sick to the stomach. His stubbornness would kill him, she realised, unless she could get him to accept her help. Despite their rift, she couldn't just ignore his plight. Her mother would expect no less. She dug through Charlie's wonderful bag. “You must get him to take these,” she told Vanesse, offering her the box of antibiotics. “Two after every meal for at least a week. They should take the infection right away.”

  Vanesse took the box and turned it over in her hands. “What kind of foreign magic is this?”

  “The Territorials call them “pills”, I don't know why. But he must swallow them and not miss taking any—this is all I know. Trust me, I've seen them work.”

  “But how will I get him to take them? He will know they do not come from me.”

  “Tell him they come directly from my father,” Lazarus chipped in. “Magic sent straight from the Lord. If anything might convince him, that will.”

  “Yes,” Vanesse said. “You are right. I will take them to him now and supervise him swallowing them myself.”

  “Thank you for everything,” Maryam said, pressing an embrace onto Vanesse.

  “If you can save my cousin, little Sister, I will be forever in your debt.” Vanesse squeezed her warmly, then shook her off. “Now to bed.” She grinned at Lazarus and winked. “And remember to reserve your waste water. We'll need every drop!”

  Maryam woke in a fury the next morning. Umatu had spent the night gurgling and snoring like a whole pen of village pigs, and now she kicked Maryam in the back as she tried to get past the prone bodies taking up all the spare floor space in her modest hut. Maryam felt exhausted and out of sorts, plagued by fears that the potion would not work or, worse, that Lesuna would die before the five days of treatment came to an end.

  She tried to put this behind her as she helped Umatu to prepare bibingka for breakfast, a treat she remembered from childhood on the atoll. Made from rice, coconut milk, sugar and eggs, it was more pudding than breakfast but so tasty that, after Lazarus woke and the three of them devoured the lot, Maryam felt her spirits lift. But when they tried to follow Umatu to check how Lesuna had fared in the night, the old woman barred the door, swiping her knobbly finger across her throat in what Maryam could only assume was a warning of danger if they left the hut.

  “You mean we have to stay hidden here all day?” Maryam asked, her pique rising again.

  Umatu shook her head, holding up her hands and flashing all ten fingers three times in a row.

  “You will be back in thirty minutes?” Maryam tried, amazed the old woman understood the Apostles’ strange concepts of time.

  Umatu nodded and grinned, then waved goodbye from the doorway before she disappeared.

  “What do you think is going on?” Maryam asked Lazarus, who sprawled on his sleeping mat with his eyes half closed.

  “I have no idea,” he said. “But I reckon we just wait for her return. She looks as though her mind is sharp.” He rolled onto his belly, peering up at her. “Listen, I have a suggestion to put to you.”

  “Oh yes?” Maryam felt her stomach contract. He emanated the same kind of alert stillness as a lizard lying in wait for its prey.

  “Koko told me that this year's Judgement is taking place next week.”

  Memories of the Choosing ceremony flooded back. The crowds; the dancing; the confused wailing as the little Sisters were taken from their parents’ arms. “So?”

  “It's a perfect place to announce Lesuna's cure. We could wait until Father and the other Apostles have returned to Star of the Sea and then speak to the villagers before they're all too overcome by toddy. It's too good a chance to miss—everyone on the whole island will be there.”

  He was right, of course. It was the perfect opportunity. But it literally terrified her, sending a cold shiver through her and stealing all her strength. She sat down with a bump and tried to clear the buzzing from her head.

  “What if they don't believe us?”

  “We can show them proof! The torch. The matches. And everything else that we can scavenge from the yacht.”

  “Can't they just say they came from the Holy City? Most of them have never Crossed.”

  “We'll have Lesuna—and I'm sure Vanesse will back us up. And, though he won't like it, we'll have your father too.” He chuckled. “Imagine his face when we reveal that it was you who saved him.”

  Maryam shuddered again, not amused by this thought at all. “You weren't here the last time I sought his help. I swear that if your father had ordered it, mine would've had me killed.”

  “That's why we must announce this in public—in a crowd. If Vanesse is right that some people are unsettled by the disappearances and punishments, then at least we will get them on our side. Come on. It would be a start.”

  “We must first wait to see if Lesuna actually lives.” Why did she feel so reluctant when she could see the logic of his plan?

  Lazarus sat up now, rounding on her so he met her eye to eye. “I won't le
t them hurt you, Maryam. I swear it on my life.”

  Annoyance flashed through her like a rogue spark. “Don't swear on something you can't control! I don't want to feel responsible for your death as well.”

  Heat flushed his cheeks. “As well? Just who, exactly, do you think you've killed?”

  “Brother Mark. Sarah, Rebekah. Mother Deborah. Joseph…”

  “That's utterly ridiculous!” Lazarus shouted. “Not one of those deaths was your responsibility—”

  “Yes. Brother Mark was punished for helping me. Sarah and Rebekah I should've helped protect. Mother Deborah killed herself because Joseph had gone, and I was the one to convince him to come. As for Joseph…”

  “Don't you dare tell me it was because he didn't take your blood.” Lazarus leaned over and grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging in hard as he shook her. “You have to stop this foolishness. Each of us can only be responsible for ourselves. You protect your own life, and I'll protect mine—”

  Maryam flung his hands off her. “Oh, very logical, when only moments ago you're swearing to protect me with your life.”

  “That's different,” Lazarus said. “I lo—” He checked himself, his face so red the blue of his eyes stood out in stark relief. He stood up and stalked to the far side of the room, turning his back on her.

  What had he been about to say? Surely not love? No, that was ridiculous.

  In the uncomfortable silence that followed, children laughed and called out to each other from the village. Maryam didn't know what to say. Then, just as she'd determined to say something—anything—to move past the awkwardness, Umatu appeared in the doorway, her bird-like eyes taking in the scene. Her nostrils flared, as if she could smell the tension and embarrassment in the hut. Seconds later, Vanesse entered, more uprooted miriki-tarai shrubs dangling from her arms.