Into the Wilderness: Blood of the Lamb (Book Two)

by Mandy Hager

  The gentle swell rocked her in its arms while a flock of golden plovers swirled overhead, calling to each other as they dipped their tawny speckled wings and soared back in towards the land. You know, you know, they seemed to cry, their piercing call penetrating the layer of water and reaching her ears. The message was so clear, so unexpected, she lost her equilibrium, and suddenly sank beneath the surface. She dropped her feet down quickly, rising out of the water with a noisy splash as the last of the plovers disappeared into the camouflage of the bush.

  You know.

  Was this her mind playing tricks with her, or did she really hear the words? And if she did, who was addressing her? What did they mean? Maryam squeezed the water from her thick plait of hair and waded back up the rain-pocked beach to retrieve her clothes, trying to make sense of what had happened as she did so. Ruth, no doubt, would say the words came from the Lord, but she was not so sure—especially as the message seemed to say that she should trust her own instincts and resist returning to the Holy City.

  It was all so confusing. Perhaps the purpose of prayer was really just to tap into the mind's vast unconscious store, to allow a person's deepest desires or truths to surface from its depths like bubbles of pure air? It was possible—after all, the Apostles justified their actions by saying the Lord had spoken to them in their prayers.

  Whatever the cause or reason, she felt sure now that the right thing to do was to try to save Joseph, and he'd not be cured if they returned to Onewēre, even if he did agree to take more blood. She could see now that Lazarus—for all that she hated him—was right about this. The Sisters’ blood alone could not restore Joseph, merely prolong his life, and there was no way he'd consent to that. They would need to find help beyond these shores—venture further into the great unknown—if he was to be completely cured. So it must be.

  She glanced over to see that Joseph had woken and had joined Lazarus in his scrutiny of the map. She jogged back along the beach.

  “Good swim?” Joseph asked, flashing her a tired smile as she climbed aboard the boat.

  She nodded, ducking into the pandanus shelter in search of Ruth. Ruth sat cross-legged in the shade, mouthing the words as she read from the Holy Book. She glanced up with such an air of confident expectation Maryam felt herself blush. Ruth was not going to like what she was now about to say.

  “Well?” Ruth said, placing her marker into the Book as she clapped it shut.

  Maryam considered her words carefully. “I asked Him and was answered.”

  “I knew it!” Ruth said, smiling broadly as she reached over and wrapped Maryam in a warm embrace. “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find. Matthew Seven.”

  Indeed, Maryam thought. My point exactly. Each sought the one answer they most longed to hear. She pulled back, taking Ruth's hands and looking at her steadily. “We must go onwards, Ruthie. That's what we are meant to do. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but that's the essence of the message I received.”

  Ruth shook her head as though dazed. “You're sure?”

  Maryam merely nodded. To say more would be to invent a story, and she loved Ruth far too much for this. All she could do was reason using the only language Ruth would understand. “The Lord sent forth the Lamb into the wilderness to test Him, and the people of the Lord as well. Perhaps He's testing us, Ruthie—just like in the Holy Book.”

  She reached over and took up Ruth's Book, flicking through until she came to the chapter on Isaiah. She knew the phrase she needed was in there somewhere—something designed to bring strength and hope again to Ruthie's heart. Then she found it and began to read, fervently hoping the words would fit.

  “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water: in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes.”

  Ruth closed her eyes and fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she listened to the words. A shaky sigh escaped her lips before she looked again at Maryam. “Very well. If this is what He asks of me, then I will go.”

  All four poured over the map as the late afternoon sun beat down on the back of their necks.

  “I think we should make haste towards the next nearest island on the map,” Maryam said.

  “I don't agree,” said Lazarus. “There's a good chance, from what we've found here and what we know of our own history, that all the people of the small islands were destroyed by the Tribulation. I reckon we head for this big island here.” He jabbed his finger at the large landmass labelled Australia.

  Joseph cleared his throat. “But my parents rejected that idea when they first planned their escape.”

  “Why?” Maryam asked.

  “I'm not really sure. All I know is that they rejected it.”

  “But didn't you say it was once a great country? Surely, if they were so advanced, the chances are they'd have survived? Think of the wonderful things the people of that time could do—make energy from the skies, turn sea water into fresh…”

  Joseph shrugged. “I don't know.” He wiped his hand across his face, swaying with tiredness.

  “I say we go,” Ruth broke in.

  All three turned, startled to hear her voice an opinion at last.

  “We could spend the rest of our lives sailing from island to island and find no help. If you really want to keep going with this crazy plan, we may as well just head for the place most likely to have the medicines we need.”

  “That, Sister,” Lazarus said, raising an eyebrow at Ruth, “is the most sensible thing I've ever heard you say.”

  Ruth flushed, and scuffed the deck with her bare toes. She could not meet his eye.

  “But how long do you think it'd take to sail there?” Maryam asked.

  Joseph measured the distance between Onewēre and Marawa Island with his fingers. “The trip here took just on four days,” he said, plotting the expanse across the blue-tinted ocean between Marawa and the enormous landmass that was Australia. The journey was three times as long. “I guess that means about twelve days.”

  “Twelve days?” Ruth's eyes bulged as she took this in.

  “Too long,” Maryam and Lazarus said in unison. Maryam ignored his smirk, and turned her attention back to the map. “In that case I think we'd better try for somewhere closer.” She scanned the dots that signified islands, hoping one would miraculously stand out as right. But there were too many, and she felt baffled by the choice.

  “I think you should head for the place where you most want to stay,” Joseph said. “There's no point doing it for me.”

  “How can you say that?” Maryam reached out for him, skimming her hand down his arm. “You're going to survive, Joseph. We'll see to that.”

  “Indeed, cousin,” Lazarus chipped in. “You must not give up now, when we're so close.”

  Joseph threw his arms into the air, shaking off Maryam's hand. “Do you think I don't understand how sick I am? You forget that I've just watched my father die in the same way.” His face was flushed and sweaty, and his sudden movement seemed to dizzy him. He reeled backwards, and would have fallen had not Lazarus seized him by the arm and supported him until he'd stabilised.

  Maryam turned away as he struggled to regain his composure, and tried instead to focus on the map. It was hard to see anything through her tears. But she would not give up hope of saving him. Refused.

  “There,” she announced, stabbing her finger at a clump of islands further west of Marawa Island. “What about these?”

  The other three leaned back in over the map, Lazarus wrapping his arm around Joseph's shoulder as if he were simply being friendly, but Maryam could see the muscles of his arm were straining as he continued to support Joseph's weight.

  “Why these and not this?” Lazarus countered, pointing at a larg
er island to the south. It sat alone, within the pool of blue.

  “These are closer to Australia,” she explained. “If there is more possibility of help from there, it makes sense to get as close as we can.” She flicked her gaze to Ruth, hoping she'd approve so they need waste no more time. “Besides, with so many islands so close together, surely we're bound to find someone who can help.”

  Lazarus smiled and gave Joseph's shoulders a playful squeeze. “It seems the rain has cleared both their heads! It's a good suggestion. I agree.” How arrogant, Maryam thought. Acting as if the decision rested with him, when he was nothing more than a stowaway. But at least he was not making the decision harder, and for that, she supposed, she was grateful. “Ruth? What about you?”

  “I guess.” She hesitated. “You won't forget your promise should we fail?”

  Maryam felt the boys’ attention fall on her as she replied. “No. If we find those islands offer us no sanctuary, we will return.” She stared squarely at Lazarus, daring him to challenge her. Relief swept over her when he did not.

  “All right,” she said, trying to tamp down the trepidation swilling in her stomach. “If everyone's agreed, let's organise ourselves today, then set off again tomorrow at first light.”

  Each nodded their agreement, then backed away, leaving the decision to hang in the air over the map like an unwelcome cloud.

  Maryam lay next to Joseph as the fire burned down to orange embers, and gave herself over to the pleasure of rest and a break in their preparations. They had renewed their water stores at a nearby stream, amassed a good haul of crabs and shellfish to add to the stash of coconuts and breadfruit they'd discovered nearby, and Lazarus had speared two good-sized fish to fill their bellies before they set off. The sea lapped peacefully against the shore, the long line of its foamy surf iridescent in the scrap of moonlight, while only the odd night bird called from the trees—a welcome reprieve from the day birds’ constant squawk and creel.

  For the rest of that day Joseph's energy had waned to such a point they'd ordered him to rest, and he had spent much of the evening dozing as the other three worked on. Now Ruth lay sleeping in the boat, and Lazarus had taken himself off up the beach again.

  Joseph lay on his back now, with his arm tucked under Maryam's head, and pointed up towards the stars. “See that one,” he said, indicating a bright star at the very edge where the horizon met the sea. “That one I call Tekeaa, after Sister Sarah.”

  Maryam felt as though her heart flipped over in her chest as her friend Sarah's dying words came back to her: When you look up to the stars for help, I will be there. It was Joseph who'd remained with Sarah—Tekeaa to her birth parents—as she died. Joseph, who now faced death himself. She rolled over to look at him, and saw how his face gleamed in the fire's dying light like the pale underbelly of a stingray in the sea's dark depths. He was caked in sweat, his shirt glued to his skin.

  “I will not let you die,” she said. “We will find help.”

  Joseph leaned towards her and kissed her forehead. “Shhhh,” he said. “Don't spoil our time. Tomorrow we will all be trapped together on the boat again. Tonight is ours.” His teeth flashed as he grinned at her. “I wish I had the strength to swim…I'd take you back out into the water and see what arose!”

  Maryam felt herself blush, and slapped him jokingly. “I think I have a fair idea!” How she wished she could transport them back to the previous night, before Lazarus's spying had driven her away. Even the thought of their passionate meeting had the power to drive strange stabs low down into her abdomen—not painful, yet urgent and unsettling all the same.

  She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie with him in that sinful way. But, despite desire, her mind shied away from it. She wanted to be close to him—knew her body came alive under his touch and that it was obvious he felt the same—but the idea of taking it any further terrified her, even though she now lay beside him in this loving way. It was all too confusing—the last thing she wanted was to ruin their precious friendship by doing something she might regret. Or Joseph might. What if she offered herself to him and then, when he truly looked upon her, he found her too small or ugly to love? The uncertainty, the possible shame, tied her stomach into knots, and for a moment she was glad Lazarus had interrupted them. Maybe she just wasn't ready for that final step. She snuggled in against him, savouring his closeness and the knowledge that, until she felt the time was right, he would not force himself on her as others might.

  Joseph's sweat smelt sour and stale. How uncomfortable he must be in that sticky shirt. Before she'd even thought it through, she leapt from the sleeping mat and scooped up the container of water she'd placed beside the fire in case he was thirsty in the night. If she could not give him the pleasure he so desired, at least she could help to ease the discomfort of his illness and show him how she felt for him through lesser acts of love. “Take off your shirt!”

  For a moment he merely stared at her, his forehead screwed up in a look of confused disbelief. But, then, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth, he did as she asked and handed Maryam his sweat-drenched shirt. His ribcage pressed tightly up against his skin, and the purple bruising of the plague spread dark shadows around his neck. She turned her eyes from it. For this short time she would close her mind to what it meant. She bundled up the shirt into a ball and poured a little of the water over it. Then, most tenderly, she began to wash his face. His eyes widened in surprise but, as she continued to wipe away the salty sweat, he closed them, lying back and tucking his hands under his head with a beatific smile.

  The minutes seemed to stretch and slow: all she was aware of was the steady rhythm of the tide as it beat time to the soothing journey of her hands. She rinsed his face, his neck, his shoulders, the soft hairs that grew under his arms, his chest, and, finally, his white concave belly, which quivered and contracted beneath her touch. Then, with hands made brave by the deepening darkness as the fire burnt itself out, she carefully undid his belt—daring not look at his pressing groin. A dart of longing shot through her but she willed herself not to get caught up in its dangerous barb. Instead, she focused on the cleansing as he raised his hips to help her slip his trousers off, and then she washed his legs and feet, working the damp cloth into the cracks between his toes.

  When she dared glance up at him, she found him watching her with hungry eyes. Again, her abdomen contracted. Lord, forgive me for my brazenness.

  “Come here,” he rasped, barely able to speak the words.

  She shook her head, never so doubtful of her own self-control as her blood seared through her veins and her pulse beat out a primitive call to act. It would be so easy now to give in to the urge…Instead, she reached with trembling hands for the blanket she had used to prop his head, and spread it over him to keep the evening chills away.

  For a few tense moments he closed his eyes and she watched his struggle to accept her decision play across his face. But then he sighed and met her gaze, holding out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation now, confident he understood, and slid herself back down beside him until they lay there touching nose to nose.

  Maryam woke well before dawn, lying on her back beneath the blanket she had shared with Joseph after the residual heat of the fire had fled. Today they would set off again. She knew she should be frightened but right now all she felt was a kind of bittersweet joy, remembering how she had fallen asleep in the comforting embrace of Joseph's arms.

  His breathing was laboured as she rolled off the mat and made her way down to the sea before the others awoke. A waning moon still lurked in the grey pre-dawn, its face a cool silver above the breeze-ruffled surface of the sea.

  She washed and dressed while the sun rose and lit the horizon of the eastern sky. Red light filtered through a veil of streaky clouds, as if staining the heavens with blood. She shuddered at the sight, aware that such colour did not bode well. Somewhere out beyond the horizon a storm must be brewing. But they could not afford t
o delay their departure—every hour mattered when Te Matee Iai was on the move. They would just have to pray the winds were working in their favour, pushing the storm away to the east.

  Lazarus walked up the beach, barely glancing at Maryam as he went to work rebuilding the fire. Joseph awoke at the noise and instantly began to cough, the harsh sound competing with the snap of wood as Lazarus broke up brittle branches to stack in a pile. Joseph met Maryam's worried gaze, trying to smile through the spasms that rocked him as he coughed.

  “Good morning,” he said to her, once he'd caught his breath. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did,” she said. She passed him a cup of water. “Did you?” She could feel Lazarus's scathing gaze upon her as he worked.

  Joseph gulped the whole cupful down, then stretched and rose shakily to his feet. He grinned. “Never better in my life.”

  From his position by the fire Lazarus snorted. He blew on the small dry ball of bracken he'd pushed into the embers until a wispy trail of smoke streamed into the air. “I hate to break up your little love nest, Sister Maryam, but I suggest you wake up Ruth. We'll need a good breakfast before we get under way.”

  His tone was typically superior, as though he spoke to a lesser being. But Maryam decided not to let his attitude rankle her this day—there was too much at stake for argument. Instead, she simply nodded and climbed aboard the boat. The tide was coming in steadily, lifting the boat from its bed of sand to wallow in the restless shallows as though raring to go. Its timing was perfect—they would need the high tide to manoeuvre the boat back out to sea.

  “Time to move,” Maryam said, grabbing Ruth's exposed leg and shaking it. She slid her fingers to the sole of Ruth's foot, tickling at the hard pad of skin with her jagged nails.

  Ruth squealed and rolled into a ball, tucking her feet out of Maryam's reach. “Don't!” Then she peered up into Maryam's face, not quite meeting her eye. “You did not sleep in here last night?”