by Mandy Hager
Soon the fire was built to a reassuring blaze, spreading a warm pool of light across the darkened beach. They huddled in its protective orbit, skewering the salted fish on sharpened sticks to heat. Behind them, the jungle pulsed with life. Noises that at home Maryam would have taken for granted—cracking sticks, rustling leaves, strange grunts and calls—took on heightened meaning now. Unknown creatures, even hostile islanders, could be out there watching…waiting…
At first they spoke of nothing more than memories of life back on Onewēre, seeking the comfort of much happier times. Ruth and Maryam told the boys of their childhood on the atoll after they were Chosen in the Judgement—carefree days coloured by the expectation of greater things once they Crossed to the Holy City to begin the Lord's work. When they could go no further, tacitly agreeing not to dwell on their lives after their Crossing, Joseph and Lazarus picked up the conversation.
To Maryam's surprise, the boys’ lives sounded quite normal. Joseph told them about how he'd been brought up amongst the villagers, while Lazarus regaled them with stories of the mischief he'd got up to in the Holy City. All the angry sourness faded from his face as his humour and storytelling skills took over, and Maryam began to see the person Joseph liked. Yet she held a little of herself back from him, mindful that he still could suddenly turn on her and revert to the cruel-hearted boy she'd come to know.
As the night deepened, tiredness stilled their tongues, and the enormity of what they might face in the days ahead started to hit home. Maryam stirred the embers of the fire with a stick, releasing tiny sparks into the cloying air.
“So what's the plan?” she asked at last, knowing she was merely putting into words what others were thinking. Although the throbbing of her tailbone had eased a little, thanks to their small supply of Mother Deborah's herbal tonics, and the grazes on her elbows had dried and stiffened to protective scabs, anxiety ached right through her like a wound.
“First we must locate that building,” Joseph said. “And then, if it too is deserted, I'm willing to climb up to the top of the mountain to see if there are any signs of other villages around the coast.”
“Is that wise?” Maryam had seen how, as the night progressed, he breathed less easily and a fine slick of sweat now gleamed in the firelight on his face and neck. She was sure he had caught a chill, and he had little in reserve to fight it.
Lazarus tossed another log on the fire. “That's stupid, cousin. I'll go. You need to rest.”
“I'm fine,” Joseph grumbled. “It's nothing that a good night's sleep won't fix.”
Lazarus rolled his eyes at Maryam and Ruth. “He's as stubborn as his father. You can see now why Uncle Jonah stormed out when my father was proclaimed Holy Father instead of him. Like my dear cousin here, he too could not accept there were some things best left to others.”
“Stormed out? You've got that wrong, dear cousin.”
Lazarus shrugged. “Come on now. You know how much his leaving hurt my father, but if it helps you to believe otherwise that's fine with me. I'm tired. I need to get some sleep.”
He rose abruptly then, and stalked over to the boat. The others watched in silence as he dragged a sleeping mat from the thatched shelter and took it off into the darkness along the beach.
“What was that about?” Ruth asked.
“It seems he doesn't know Uncle Joshua threatened my father with death should he remain in the Holy City or try to interfere in any way.” Joseph slapped his hands against his hips as though to punctuate the end of the conversation before he rose. “I think it's time we all turned in.”
“But I don't understand,” Maryam said. “Both you and your mother told me your family left the Holy City by choice.”
“That's true as well. The path that Uncle Joshua was taking made them sick to their stomachs—but Uncle's threat left them with no other option.”
“Why have you never told me this before?”
“The threat extended to never speaking of it. It was not safe to mention until now.”
“But—” Surely Joseph's father did not believe his brother really would have him killed? What of family bonds? Then she remembered her betrayal at her own father's hands. Family bonds did not always guarantee safety after all.
“Enough now,” he cut in. “Stirring it up again will do no good. He's my cousin and we're stuck together, good or bad.” He began to collect more driftwood to feed the fire through the night. “I'll sleep here to tend the fire. If anything is roaming round, the flames should hold it well at bay.”
His tone discouraged any further comment, leaving Maryam no choice but to retreat with Ruth to the refuge of the boat. There they curled up on the sleeping mats, trying to ignore the way the craft tilted back towards the sea. After three nights rocked to sleep by the motion of the waves, they found it hard now to relax, with every tiny sound loud in their ears. By the time Ruth had finished her prayers, Maryam knew she wouldn't sleep. She just could not get comfortable. Her tailbone was too bruised to lie on, and her stomach still tender from her flight into the boat's side rail. Besides, she had much to think on. She waited until Ruth's breath had slowed and evened out before creeping from the boat.
Joseph lay by the fire, his eyes shut tight. His capacity to shake off his uncle's threat against his family amazed her—she was certain she did not have it in her to let such a long-term grievance go. Her father's rejection of her still swelled inside her like a boil needing to be lanced. This was what she loved about Joseph: the open warmth and generosity of his heart, so unlike her own. Loved? No, put that foolish thought away.
She passed him by and made her way down to the sea. The tideline was alive with teams of questing crabs, reminders of that fateful night, weeks ago, the evening before she Crossed. She remembered how she'd felt back then, standing with her toes bared to the warm lapping tide as she stared out at the magical lights of the Holy City—the great fortress called Star of the Sea. How excited she had been. How filled with awe. If she'd known back then what was to befall her, would she have gone so passively the next morning? She sighed. Perhaps. The teachings of the Holy Book and the Rules were hard to spurn.
And now here she was again, seeking the constancy of the tide to calm her in the face of more uncertainty. For a moment she envied the crabs, hidden safely in their hard protective shells, able to bury themselves beneath the sand as daylight neared. If only she was half as brave as Joseph thought.
Under the cover of darkness, Maryam shed her clothes and waded into the water up to her thighs. She twisted her thick plait of hair around her hand and tied it into a high knot atop her head, then sank down into the tepid sea until it cradled her in its buoyant arms. She did not venture any deeper, mindful of unseen predators, and rested her knuckles on the grainy sand to resist the gentle tugging of the tide. At first the salt stung her elbows but she knew that it would do them good. And it eased her strained muscles and bruises almost as much as it calmed her troubled mind. She looked up to the stars, charting her position subconsciously as she located the Maiaki Cross. Somewhere, way across the sea, it shone down on her father's home. Would he have been so angry and unforgiving if her mother had lived?
“Maryam, is that you?” Joseph's query shook her from her musings, and she bobbed down, hiding her nakedness as she tracked his voice. He stood at the edge of the water, backlit by the fire.
“Shhhh,” she whispered across to him. “You'll wake the others.”
“Hang on a minute! I'm coming in!”
Before she could argue, he had stripped off his clothes and waded in, his hands strategically placed across the parts she feared to see. He squatted down and made his way across to her clumsily on bended knees. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” she said. “I just needed some time to think.”
He was right next to her now, the water lapping at his shoulders. “You look like a seal,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck stray tendrils of her hair back into her plait. His fingers lingered on her neck, cuppin
g it, his thumb circling the fine curls at its nape.
She could hardly breathe. His hand slid to her shoulder, drawing her around until they faced each other, only a hand's width of lapping water between them. She knew she should pull away, put distance and propriety between them, yet she couldn't—couldn't. It felt as though the tide pressed up against her back to trap her there and she was powerless to intervene.
Never before had she been so conscious of her body. She knew Joseph had glimpsed it when Father Joshua stripped her bare before the entire congregation of the Holy City when she'd first Crossed. But now it really mattered to her, and she felt ashamed. She'd always been so small—Mother Elizabeth's “tebebi”; she'd been late to get her bloods and was still as lean and lacking curves as a young boy. Would he think her ugly if he saw her now?
The whites of his eyes shone silver as he leaned across the distance, every fraction of an inch heightening her apprehension, until he met her with his lips. All the strength in her legs gave way and she floated up against his chest, nipple meeting tingling nipple with a terrifying recognition as the kiss transformed to something so heated she truly felt that she would burst.
He drew back from her, panting, holding her gaze as his fingers slid down from her shoulders to tentatively brush her breasts. Even as her body trembled, her hands rose instinctively to push him away.
“Don't,” she whispered, barely able to find the air to force the word out past her lips.
His pupils were so dilated his eyes looked black. “Do you want me to go away?”
“Yes,” she said, then panicked. “No.” She didn't know. “It's just I'm so small and ugly,” she blurted. Stupid. That's not what she had meant to say.
“But you're beautiful,” he said. “You must know that.” He took her hand, rising to his feet so quickly she had no time to protest as he pulled her up as well. And now he grasped her other hand, hoisting her arms out from her sides to stop her as she tried to free them. “Oh Lord,” he said. “You have no idea how beautiful.”
She locked her eyes on his face, terrified to look down at his nakedness. She was a Blessed Sister, her body sacred and her life forever destined to be sacrificed to the Lord. It was a sin, this act—this wonderful and overwhelming act—her elders had told her it was not allowed.
“This is wrong,” she said.
He dropped her hands and instantly she shielded her pubic hair. “How can it be wrong?” he asked. “I love you.”
She closed her eyes. He had said it, used the word! But did his saying it make this right? She wanted more than anything to think it so—to take away the nervous hurt she heard now in his voice. Maybe if he really did love her…how could something driven by such shared longing be a sin? She stepped in close to him and gently ran the palms of her hands along the muscles of his arm. His skin was so smooth, the fine hairs soft and downy as they rose in goosebumps at her touch. He grunted and pulled her to him again, crushing her with a kiss that left her in no doubt of his desire.
She was lost now, unable to think rationally. She pressed up against him as his touch explored her inch by inch. Gave herself over to it, her own fingers spider-walking down his back until they traced the hard curve of his hips. As his hand brushed past the hair that guarded her most private place, her eyes shot open in surprise.
There, over Joseph's shoulder, she saw a stark silhouette on the beach. Lazarus! Awake and watching.
With a tormented cry she pulled away, splashing through the sea. She didn't even pause long enough to scoop up her clothes—just ran back to the shelter of the boat, leaving Joseph totally abandoned to the tide.
The night seemed to last forever as Maryam drifted in and out of tormented dreams. Father Joshua was there, and the baying congregation of Star of the Sea. And her father's voice was there as well, ringing in her ears when she awoke fully just after dawn: Take this faithless whore and cast her out. At the time his words seemed so unfair, yet now she feared her actions last night proved him right.
How could she face Joseph now? She should have sought him out immediately, explained to him why she had run. Would he hate her? Would his love have died the instant she fled? With a heavy heart she forced herself to rise and seek him out. Maybe it was not too late.
Already the birds had started up their din, squawking and creeling above the chirp of the crickets warming themselves in the first rays of the sun. Maryam poked her head out of the boat's shelter. Joseph's sleeping mat lay deserted beside the smouldering remains of the fire. There was no other sign of him at all. Lazarus was there, though, swimming confidently across the bay. She released a long and shaky breath. How on earth would she deal with him? She had no doubt he'd use what he had seen the previous night to cause her pain. It was part of his make-up, plain as that—he could no more control his brutish nature than a snake or shark. Today, for sure, she'd be his prey.
She climbed down from the boat and tossed a few more sticks onto the fire to stoke it back to life. The smoke helped drive away the army of biting insects that swarmed around—already her arms and legs were covered with inflamed itchy spots where they had bitten during the night. She peeled a pawpaw and ate it quickly, trying to soothe the terrible knot in her stomach each time she thought of Joseph.
Lazarus swam in to land some distance from her, and she turned her eyes away as he rose from the sea. A picture of Joseph in all his aroused glory flashed through her mind, and a stabbing ache ran through her. Where was he? But now Lazarus came striding up the beach towards her, wearing only shorts, his sleeping mat and shirt tucked under his arm. She could feel a blush roaring up her neck to consume her face, so busied herself by tidying the campsite, hauling Joseph's sleeping mat onto the deck of the boat and returning with a metal pot in which to heat some water to brew up a potion of te buka leaves that would stop her insect bites from festering. It would be good for her grazes too. Dear Mother Evodia had long ago taught her all about its special qualities for staving off infection in the humid heat.
Lazarus had stopped a short way off, and was staring intently at the hard-baked sand. He glared over at Maryam and, seeing she was watching, beckoned her over.
“I think you'd better come see this,” he called, his voice dripping suppressed rage.
She ran over to him, not brave enough to meet his eye, but scanning the ground to see what it was that held him there. As she approached, she saw something had been scratched into the hard crust of sand. Gone ahead. Will climb the mountain on my own.
Lazarus rounded on her. “This is your fault, you stupid girl.” He slewed his foot over the sand, smearing Joseph's message with one angry sweep.
“I didn't do anything—”
“My point exactly.” He surveyed her as if she were a piece of rotting meat. “Couldn't you have just given the poor lovesick puppy what he wanted? Can't you see that he's ill?”
“I know he's got a chill, but he—”
Again he gave her no chance to defend herself. “How in all heaven can you be so blind?” He slapped his hands against his face, leaving white handprints on his sunburnt cheeks. “You had me fooled. I actually once thought you might have had some brains.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“He's dying, you imbecile. You think your blood has saved him—but if you really cared for him you'd have seen how he's succumbing to Te Matee Iai again.”
She was struck dumb, the pain of his accusation so intense she felt she'd been flogged. Dying? No, he couldn't be. She'd given him her blood, and the marks of Te Matee Iai had gone away—she'd seen this with her own two eyes. And yet…hadn't this been nagging at her all along, causing her to fuss over him so? Perhaps she'd known, but couldn't stand to face the truth.
“If he climbs that mountain now, in such a weakened state, there'll be no hope.” Lazarus looked furious, but Maryam was stunned to see tears wash across his eyes. “The effort will totally destroy what little resistance he has left.”
She wrapped her arms around her head,
trying to blot out the truth of his words. If only she had closed her eyes again last night, given Joseph the one thing he most needed then to soothe his soul. Was it really so much for him to have asked of her—to share in his affection? She'd failed him. Failed the one person, besides Ruth, who'd only ever shown her honest unconditional love. She dropped her arms and raised her face, determining to meet her remorse and faults head on. “I'll go after him,” she said, meeting Lazarus's scornful eyes. “If I hurry now—”
“Stupid and not logical,” he spat. “The last thing we need is you getting lost or injured in the jungle, while Sister Sanctimonious jumps at imaginary skulls and loses the plot again.” He scooped up his shirt and wrestled it over his wet shoulders. “No, we'll go together and we'd better do it straight away. Go wake Ruth.”
Maryam hated how he seemed to think he had the right to order her around. But she knew she had to swallow down her compulsion to defy him, for Joseph's sake. Time was short. She turned and ran, relieved to see that Ruth was already emerging from the boat.
“What's all the yelling about?”
“It's Joseph. We need to go after him, and do it now!”
“Go? Where has he gone?”
“We have to hurry. He's gone to climb the mountain alone.”
“So?” Ruth rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.
“Please, just come.” Maryam grabbed for Ruth's hand, tugging her towards Lazarus, who waited at the jungle's edge. “I'll tell you all about it as we go.”
They followed roughly the same route as the previous afternoon, clambering over the ruins of the crumbling village with more confidence and determination now that they were better mentally prepared for its dire state. They were aided too by the improved light that filtered down through the trees as the sun rose higher in the sky.
As they walked, Maryam gave Ruth a quick censored version of the night's events, though left out her late-night swim. “The trouble is, we've no idea what time he left.”