Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb)
Page 31
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 Lazar
us 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.
MANDY HAGER is an award-winning writer and educator based in Wellington, New Zealand. She has a drive to tell stories that matter—direct, powerful stories with something to say. She won the 2010 New Zealand Post Children's Book Award for Young Adult Fiction for The Crossing and has twice won the LIANZA Book Awards for YA fiction. In 2012 she was awarded the Beatson Fellowship to write Dear Vincent, a story about suicide, painting, and Vincent Van Gogh. In 2014 she was named the Katherine Mansfield Menton Fellow (one of New Zealand's oldest and most prestigious writing awards), with the opportunity to travel to the south of France for eight months of writing and research. Visit her online at www.mandyhager.com, at www.facebook.com/BloodOfTheLambTrilogy, and on Twitter @MandyHager.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Back Cover