The Crossing, page 17
The force of her anger served to move Maryam from her state of shock. How could it be that the freedom of her people fell to her, she wondered, peering into the shifting water in the channel. She was nothing, no one, a beast for sacrifice, a womb to fill. But then she thought of Sarah and how, even in dying, her fury lit a flame of resistance that refused to dim. We’re nothing more than slaves to them…but you, Maryam, should flee. At the time she could truthfully have answered that fleeing was pointless and impossible, the stuff of dreams. Yet now…it was being offered up to her and she was too scared to heed the call. How disappointed Sarah would be if she knew.
The tide was dropping quickly now, revealing a narrow walking track that must have been etched into the rock to follow the channel out to sea. Suddenly Maryam was overwhelmed by the need to be free of this suffocating place, where the walls and ceiling closed in around her like the ugly corridors in Star of the Sea. She craved the warmth of sunlight and expanse of sky.
“Can I have time to think on this?” She spun back to Mother Deborah, anxious to see her response.
The older woman nodded, sadness clinging to her like a mist. “Of course. It is right that we return now. Joseph will be desperate to know your choice.”
Maryam crouched in the fresh water of the women's private bathing pool, scrubbing away the sticky layer of salt still clinging to her after the swim. Checking she was unobserved, she slipped out of her clothes and frothed them up with coconut soap to try to remove the stubborn stains. Once she'd rinsed them out as best she could and wrung them free of water, she spread them out to dry on the surrounding rocks, which were still hot despite the afternoon nearing its end. She uncoiled her hair to wash it, too, careful to protect her ear, and rested her head back so the long black tresses floated up around her like lush strings of kelp. In the dappled late afternoon sun her silky skin so closely matched the golden undertones of rock and earth it seemed as if she and the water were one. It was strange how quickly the sensation of being gently held by water calmed her mind when the very thought of setting forth on the ocean in a boat appalled her right down to her bones.
She'd felt so ungrateful, so terribly feeble, when she and Mother Deborah had returned to Joseph and he'd scoured her face for her reaction to this crazy scheme. And she had disappointed him; she had seen hope die in his eyes. It hurt, that disappointment: it dug down deep. If only there was some way she could take him with her. Seek, as his mother dreamed, some way to save his fragile life—and that of Ruth, and poor terrified Rebekah. And dear old Hushai and Brother Mark. What if she took them all with her, in search of some new peaceful land?
Holy Heaven—that was it! She dug her feet into the smooth pebbles lining the bottom of the pool and pushed herself upright in one determined movement, water spilling off her as her hair plastered her naked breasts and back. There was no reason to go alone!…she could take them all! Could give Joseph another gift of blood so he was strong enough to make the journey and then—
“Strike me down, but you're a fine-looking little upstart.”
She scrabbled for her clothes, clutching them to her as Lazarus leered at her from the bank. He looked travel-worn and weary, blooming circles of sweat beneath each arm. As she stood there too embarrassed and stunned to move, he slowly began to unbutton his shirt, first revealing his chest and then, holding her eye with his arrogant gaze, unbuckling his belt and brazenly slipping off his pants. “When they sent me to arrest you…” he started, slowly making his way down to the water, the belt still trailing in his hand, “I didn't think I'd have the pleasure of washing away your sins as well.”
He waded within arm's length of her, and finally she felt the power to move again. She splashed through the water, desperate to get away, but he caught her tightly around the wrist.
“No need to rush. It's time we were acquainted properly, just you and me.” He tugged her toward him, twisting her arm further and further up her back until she could endure the pain no longer and ceased her struggle. Then he grabbed her other arm, dragging it, too, behind her. Her clothes fell in the pool.
“Leave me alone!” Maryam tried to fend him off with her glare alone but Lazarus merely chuckled, looking instead to her nipples which, to her shame and great dismay, tensed and hardened into rosy buds.
He whistled admiringly between his teeth and bent down, brushing his tongue ever so delicately across one bud. Despite herself, fire shot down to her abdomen and detonated deep inside. He lifted his face to her again, a lazy smile rippling his lips. “There. That wasn't so bad, now was it?”
There was such smugness in his voice, full with the knowledge he could violate her and no one would dare raise a hand against him. It was just as Mother Deborah had said: Those in power always win out. And now they'd sent this beast to humiliate her and drag her back. What chance did she have of resisting him? What chance at all?
He drew her even closer, until her betraying nipples brushed against his skin. So quickly she did not see it coming, he wound his belt around her wrists, binding them together to free up his hands. He ran his fingers down her back, cupping her buttocks in his palms.
“There, you see?” he whispered up against her ear, breathing his hot moist lust right into her. “Humility, little Sister. You're not so special after all.”
She could hear the distant mew of hungry children and the sounds of those preparing food, but she knew if she cried out for help no one would dare disturb his game. Power and control. Yet what else had Mother Deborah said? That she, alone, had shown the necessary will to fight. And Hushai, too: You have a task that none but you can carry out…. She gritted her teeth, her hands clenching behind her back. Mother Deborah was absolutely right. If she did not fight this wickedness head on, no one else would step in to take up the cause.
He was nuzzling her neck now, pressing the live evil part of himself against her stomach in an odorous gyrating dance. Enough! She jerked her knee upward, driving it into the centre of that threatening manhood with all the strength she had left.
He grunted pain, releasing her as he doubled over to clutch the site of her attack. “No one owns me,” she shouted, her voice shaking with fury and fear. Lord in Heaven, of all the risks she'd run to date, this was the most dangerous by far. She stumbled toward the bank of the pool, frantically trying to work her hands free from the belt. But the bank was slimy and without her hands to balance her, she slipped and splashed back down again, muddy ledges crumbling under her and spewing a dirty cloud out into the water. By now Lazarus was recovering; he threw himself toward her as she tried, again, to scale the bank. This time she dug her toes in hard and made it up, finally freeing her hands as she ran, naked and terrified, along the path that led back to the village huts.
Memories of her humiliation at Aneaba flooded back, and it struck her that her naked arrival in this village might cause further disruption and outrage. She could not bear the thought of this and veered off the track, crashing through the undergrowth in desperate hope that somehow there would be, ahead, a place to hide. But she heard Lazarus close behind her, and realised now the dreadful error in her logic. Panicked, she spied a fallen tree branch on the ground ahead and scooped it up, rounding on him and holding it as threateningly as possible above her head.
“If you come any closer I will attack.” She braced herself, knowing in her heart this act was futile but determined to go down fighting.
He stopped, throwing up his arms to ward her off. “Whoa there, wild woman,” he jeered. “I think I'll just rest here a while to enjoy the view.”
Embarrassment radiated from her cheeks and neck but she dared not lower the branch to cover herself and hide her shame. Then the strangest change came over her, as if some lost spirit had seen her there and slipped itself into her skin. She straightened, feeling the power of her presence—her glistening skin, her streaming hair, the fire she knew was in her eyes—and found herself weighing the branch in her hands as if she were a warrior woman from days long past. And she could see this strange possession affect him, too: he crossed his hands defensively across his own nakedness and something indefinable about his manner seemed to change.
“Look all you like,” she challenged him, finding in her mind a place of searing clarity she hadn't known existed. “If you take me by force then all you will have proved is that you're bigger and faster. I'll still know that the thing you most covet—my awe and respect—you'll never have.”
Her words struck true, his face flushing a blazing pink, and she drove the message home ruthlessly, curling her top lip a little as she looked down at his fast reducing manhood with a mocking smile. And he was disconcerted, right enough, one of his hands unconsciously sweeping back his dishevelled fringe while the other still struggled to cover himself from her scornful gaze.
But his fluster did not last long; she had to give him that. He laughed, more naturally now, and very purposefully folded his arms across his chest, standing with his legs apart so she could see him in all his naked glory, and it took her all her willpower not to blush again or look away.
“What would you know of respect?” he said. “Have you not sacrificed yourself—your very soul—to the Lord? To us?” He shifted, taking half a step closer, his eyes locked in a war with hers. “Why should I respect your kind? You let us steal away your lives.”
She felt his accusation as a blistering slap, for what he said was all too true. She had to try to reason with him, in the few precarious minutes before he grew bored with this game and struck again. “Does our powerlessness give you the right to treat us like animals?”
“Yes,” he shrugged, “why not?” He shifted a little, one hand straying to his hip as he watched her recoil at his words. “I know we've all been raised to worship a judicious Lord and Father—someone who is kind and fair. But where's the evidence, dear Sister? Show me where?” Something close to sadness swept his face before he transformed it to a sneer. “One day I looked around and saw my father and his cohorts do exactly as they please, while all you ignorant servers continue to slug back toddy like it's sacred water and kiss the ground beneath their feet. And they're not struck down by the Lord, my little lovely—oh, no. The Apostles are rewarded for their sins. Revered.”
His cynicism sickened her. “You call it sin yet still condone it?”
“Again, why not? You'd rather I shunned my birthright? I'm not about to join the ranks of drugged-up weaklings such as you. Grow up.”
All that Mother Deborah had spoken of inside the cave came sharply into focus now in Maryam's mind. “Do not mistake submission for weakness, Brother Lazarus, when its underlying cause is fear.”
“Bravo!” Mother Deborah stepped out from behind a tree and clapped her hands, their discarded clothes now lying dripping across her arm. She looked to Lazarus, one eyebrow raised. “It seems, nephew, if we put aside her astounding disobedience, you may finally have met your match!”
Lazarus blushed scarlet as his aunt surveyed his naked form. She plucked his trousers from the pile of sopping clothes and handed them to him, winking at Maryam as they watched him struggle into the wet clothing as fast as he could. For the first time since Maryam had seen him, he appeared more boy than man, hopping unbalanced from foot to foot as the fabric tangled and clung to itself, refusing to cooperate.
With Lazarus distracted, Mother Deborah placed herself as a barrier between him and Maryam, who struggled back into her own wet clothes.
“Thank you,” she whispered gratefully. Her whole body began to shake, only now revealing the extent of her terror and shame.
“Come.” Mother Deborah took Maryam briskly by the elbow and escorted her back to the track. “Oh, nephew,” she called over her shoulder, “when you have pulled yourself together, kindly join me in my hut. Joseph is there.”
They left him struggling in the undergrowth, while they hurried back along the pathway to the village. “It's lucky that I came in search of you. Lazarus has yet to learn much self-control.”
Maryam shuddered, thinking how close she'd come to discovering this first hand. “Of all the people they could have sent to take me back, I truly wish it wasn't him.” She swallowed hard. “He frightens me. And he said I'm under arrest. What does that mean?”
They reached the entrance to Mother Deborah's hut and paused outside. “I'm really not sure, my dear. But I understand my brother-in-law well enough to know he will use this as a lesson to subdue any further unrest.”
As Mother Deborah made to go inside, Maryam held her back. “I have reconsidered,” she admitted, and excitement dawned in the older woman's eyes.
“But we need to talk. I think I may have figured out a way to work your crazy plan.”
From her lowly position at the rear of the room, Maryam watched Joseph, his mother, and Lazarus complete their meal. Joseph hardly ate a thing; indeed, he seemed to grow more pale and weak with every passing hour now. A harsh dry cough wracked his thin frame, and the ugly purple marks of Te Matee Iai continued to creep across his skin with the same voraciousness as the kona roroana vine showed in suffocating tall trees.
She picked away at her own meal of steamed fish and taro with her fingers, playing up her servility to throw Lazarus off the scent of their newly formed scheme. She had not needed to work hard to convince Mother Deborah of its merits: the two of them had hurriedly conspired together as they prepared the meal. Mother Deborah would return with them to Star of the Sea, where she could contrive the means to postpone Joseph's death and set in motion their eventual escape. All it now took was Lazarus's unintentional co-operation and the hook was baited—so long as Joseph lived that long and he, among all others, did not suspect the purpose of their plan.
Mother Deborah now pushed her empty plate away and leaned in toward Lazarus, touching his arm. “Nephew, I would seek your help. I need someone with stealth and strength.”
He looked at her, surprised and pleased. “Of course, Aunt Deborah. I'm glad if I can be of help.” He straightened himself, preening with such an air of self-importance Maryam hurriedly hid a smile behind her hand.
“I know you must make all haste to get the girl back to the Holy City, but Joseph and I need to travel there as well.” Her gaze turned to Joseph, who had slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes, and worry creased her brow. “He is in need of your mother's expert care, and I am worried that the trek will further weaken him—especially since his strength was sapped by trying to recapture this stupid girl.”
Joseph's eyes flickered open and he looked confused. It seemed he was about to speak—perhaps to chastise his mother for her change of tack over Maryam's position—when Maryam saw a subtle look pass between them. He nodded almost imperceptibly and sealed his lips.
“You want me to arrange a litter?” Lazarus asked. In his self-absorbed state he'd clearly missed their silent exchange.
Mother Deborah shook her head. “I fear the trip is still too slow.” Now she shimmied closer to him and murmured conspiratorially: “I have a much, much faster way.”
“Indeed?” Lazarus's face lit up with curiosity.
“I first must ask you for your word not to reveal this to a soul.” She gestured dismissively at Maryam. “The girl I can keep silent on the threat of death, but from you I expect loyalty not to say a word.” She paused, playing on the drama of the moment. “Not to your friends. Not to your pretty server playthings. And, most especially, not to your mother or father. On the memory of my darling Jonah you must swear this.”
How he is lapping this up, Maryam thought, watching as his eyes widened and he licked his lips. His greed for power was playing right into Mother Deborah's hands.
“For you, Aunt, and in the memory of my uncle, Jonah, I solemnly swear.”
Mother Deborah reached over to him now, cupping his face between her hands to kiss each cheek. “I will not forget this, my sweet nephew. I will be indebted to you till my dying day.”
Again Maryam struggled to contain her mirth: the vain boy had puffed up like a frigate bird luring its mate. Joseph's eyes were on him also, equally amused, although still clearly puzzled by his mother's intent. He looked over at Maryam for one long searing moment before he was consumed by another cruel bout of coughing. It hurt her to see him struggle so, and took all her willpower not to rush to him and offer help. How could she feel so deeply for him when so little time had passed since first they met? The emotion, strange and raw, was heightened by his failing state.
“So,” prompted Lazarus, “what is your great secret plan?”
“I have a sailing craft—a small longboat converted to use the wind to push it forward.” She held up her hand to ward off his response. “I know it is against the Rules of the Apostles but…” Here she lowered her voice and smiled in a perfect replica of his own cynical smirk. “We all know there's one set of rules for the servers and the villagers, and a completely different set for us.”
Lazarus nodded, not appearing to find this at all out of the ordinary. “And you can sail this craft?”
“Indeed I can. And I intend to show you, too. Now that Jonah has died and Joseph is…weakened—” her casual tone cracked at this, and she had to swallow hard before she continued “—I'd like to give the boat to you. But first, I want to use it to transport Joseph quickly back to Star of the Sea.”
Lazarus sprang to his feet in his eagerness. “Count me in! When do we leave?”
Mother Deborah laughed. “I fear we'll have to wait the night. But if you help me to prepare everything, we'll leave at dawn. It's easier to learn to sail when you can see!” She, too, rose and then turned to Maryam. “Stay and clear this mess up, girl. Brother Lazarus and I will go now and prepare the boat.” She towered over Maryam, weighting her words for Lazarus's benefit. “Do not attempt to leave this hut. I will have villagers posted outside to stop you should you try—and I will not be responsible for how they choose to carry this order out.”
