Into the Wilderness: Blood of the Lamb (Book Two) (10 page)

“I just want to save him,” she cried, sinking to her knees. She was exhausted now. Bereft. “You wouldn't understand this, but I love him.”

“Love?” Lazarus sneered. “You call that love?” He blew out a furious breath, his fingers linked above his head as he looked up at the canopy of trees. Then he inhaled deeply and crouched down beside her, his anger barely held in check. “The only way he can stay alive is if he keeps receiving more blood. Don't you see? You can't cure him, no matter how much you wish you could. He'd have to suck you dry and then, because she's probably stupid enough to offer up her blood like you, your best friend Ruth would die as well. Do you really think my cousin would agree to that?”

“But—”

“There are no buts. First you would die. And then, most likely, Sister Ruth.”

“But listen,” she tried again, reaching out to touch his arm. Somehow she had to make him see sense. “My blood would keep him going long enough till we find somewhere else to land.”

Lazarus looked down at her hand, so small and brown against his skin. Embarrassed now, she drew it away. When he spoke again, he sounded almost kind. “He will never take it, Maryam. I know him too well. So, you can either fight him on this and waste your last days with him, or you can show him love, and hope that we can find somewhere with the means to make him well.”

She hated him. Hated that she knew he spoke the truth. There was nothing she could do to save Joseph. She was going to lose him and it hurt more than she could bear. Unless, as he said…

“You really think there's somewhere out there that we might find help?”

He shrugged. “I've no idea. But, truthfully, it's Joseph's only real chance.” He stood up again, and offered her his hand. “Are you brave enough to try?”

Was she? Could she set forth again, when all the evidence now pointed to the truth of the Apostles' claims about the Tribulation's total destructive force? But, then again, how could she not?

She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring his proffered hand. “I am.”

On their return to the beach, Lazarus took himself off to the shelter of the boat and Ruth, who'd collected up the plates and pots from their meal, was down at the water's edge, rinsing them out. A putrid smell hung around the camp as the last of Mother Lilith's instruments melted in the embers and sent forth acrid black smoke.

Joseph lay resting on the sleeping mats, his eyes suspiciously red. He looked so miserable that Maryam, yet again, was wracked with guilt. He was mortally ill and she had only made things worse. She sat down at the end of his makeshift bed and ran her finger along the line of his toes.

“I'm so sorry,” she said to him. His toes were long and bony, the nails chipped and in need of a good trim. “I will not speak of it again.”

“Good,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. He cleared his throat. “And I'm sorry I fought with you.”

She ran her hand up the long broad bone of his shin. She couldn't keep from touching him. Beneath her fingers his fine blond hairs were caked with tiny salt crystals that made them gritty and slightly sticky to her touch. “We'll find somewhere to get you help, I promise.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding unconvinced. He reached down and stilled her hand, pulling it towards him until she was stretched right out beside him on the mat. “That's better,” he said, rolling onto his side so he could see her face. He reached over and brushed her wiry tangled hair out of her eyes. “I always feel better when I'm next to you.”

She buried her face into his chest, smelling the briny freshness of the sea on his skin, and fought back tears as the sweetness of his nature knocked away all her defences. How would she live without him if he died? But she knew she had to push the thought away—it was too big, too all-consuming—and right now the best way to help him was to be brave herself. He did not need the added burden of her grief.

“You know last night?” she whispered. “What you said about loving me?”

He nodded.

“Did you really mean it?”

He smiled, twisting a strand of her hair in his fingers. “What do
you
think?”

She prodded him playfully on the arm. “You say!”

“Oh…all right!” He raised himself up onto one elbow, so he stared directly down into her eyes. “I love you, Maryam.” He kissed her lightly on the nose. “Satisfied?”

For a moment they both just grinned, eyes locked on each other without the need for words. But then the moment was broken as he coughed and sank back down on the mat.

“Rest a while,” she said to him as she sat up. “Right now I need to speak with Ruth.”

He nodded, his eyes still watering from the intensity of the coughing. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, whispering into his ear: “I love you too.”

A smile etched his face, accentuating how tired and drawn he looked, and Maryam felt a deep aching inside her chest. She pushed herself off the mat, reluctant to leave him, but knowing he needed rest and that Ruth was down brooding at the water's edge.

She was crouched in the shallows, scouring the pot with sand. Maryam squatted next to her and collected up the rinsed bowls at Ruth's feet.

“I'm sorry,” she said, noting the tight line of Ruth's mouth and her defensive hunch. “I just can't bear the thought that he's dying.”

Ruth increased the swirling motion of her hand as she worked the sand around the pot, answering only once she'd rinsed it out and checked it was thoroughly clean. “I know that. But you've forgotten there are four of us, not just you and him. And I'm scared of dying too.”

Fear flared in Maryam's mind. “You're not sickening as well?”

“No. But to stay here or travel on into nothingness is certain death. I understand why you wanted to escape—to risk this—but we've proved now there is nothing beyond Onewēre's shores. It's time to go home before we're
all
dead.”

“But don't you see? If we return home we'll end up dying anyway. One way or another they'll make us pay.”

“Not if we repent,” Ruth said. “The Lord opens his heart to sinners if they ask.”

Maryam scooped up a bowlful of water, trickling it slowly back into the sea. “It's not the Lord I'm scared of, Ruthie. It's Father Joshua.”

Ruth's nostrils flared. “Well, you
should
be scared of the Lord. We've broken His Rules.”

“They're
not
His Rules.”
How could she so easily put aside Father Joshua's assault on her? Did it not still haunt her? Make her sick?
But Maryam knew it would be cruel to dredge the memory up when Ruth herself seemed able to suppress it. She'd need to try another tack. “Please,” she said. “I promise that if
we find the next place is as hopeless as this, I'll take you home. Meantime, can't you just give Joseph one more shot at life?”

Ruth stood up, clutching the pot as if it were a lifeline. “How do you think all those people died?” she asked, deflecting Maryam's question.

“I don't know. Perhaps they tried to shelter from the Tribulation. Who knows?”

“The Lord knows,” Ruth answered. “He knows all.”

Ruth started walking back towards the boat, forcing Maryam to tag behind. As they approached the fire, Maryam glanced over at Joseph's sleeping form and halted in her tracks, studying him as he restlessly dozed. Deep shadows of sickness hollowed his eyes; his mouth drooped open in his effort to breathe. Already his face had taken on the bony features of a skull.

“Poor Joseph,” Ruth whispered. She sighed as she reached out for Maryam's hand. “If you really want to make me promises, then promise me this: that you'll truly and sincerely pray to the Lord for forgiveness and for a message about what we should do next. He will come to you, Maryam, if you seek him out.”

Ruth was grasping her hand tightly, urging her to comply. She didn't seem to realise the irony in her request: that she expected the Lord to give Maryam the answer to their predicament if she prayed, while Ruth herself prayed constantly but had not received the message straight from Him.

“I promise,” she said, her pulse throbbing in her temple as she recognised she had no other choice. She did not want to be responsible for forcing Ruth to continue on against her will. Not this time. “If that is what you wish.”

Ruth laughed. “The Lord be praised,” she said. With that
she clambered up onto the boat and, ignoring Lazarus—who had laid the map out on the roof of the shelter and was studying it intently—disappeared inside.

Maryam sighed. She reached for the small smooth pebble she always carried in her pocket—the special one Ruth had given her before she'd Crossed—and stared into its luminous blue depths. It reminded her of Onewēre, of the clear cobalt water that surrounded her much-loved home. The little ones would be having their afternoon nap about now, while old Zakariya supervised the older Sisters as they tended to the garden and the other daily chores. Life was so simple there: no doubts, no fear, just the overwhelming belief that the Apostles' word was sacred and that the Sisters were destined to serve, in the words of the Rules, with readiness and joy.

She remembered the eve of her Crossing, how she'd stood at the water's edge and stared across the water to
Star of the Sea
. How, somewhere deep inside, her fears for the future stirred and woke. At the time she'd put it down to natural nerves, but now she wondered if she'd had some kind of premonition of the horrors she was to endure. Yet, if she'd voiced her fears aloud, no one would have listened, just as Ruth even now could not comprehend the total terror that overwhelmed Maryam at the thought of returning home. Ruth might believe the Lord would protect them from Father Joshua's merciless wrath, but she did not. Still, a promise was a promise…she would go and pray.

It was hard to find a place where the constant racket of the birds did not intrude upon her thoughts. In the end she walked to the far end of the beach and stripped down to her underwear to swim. She entered the warm sea and lowered herself into its buoyant embrace, staring up at the wispy clouds as she floated
on her back. Her ears were submerged just below the waterline, blocking out the most irritating of the birdcalls and replacing them with the sea's soft whisper and the reverberation of her own steady breaths.

Dear Lord, forgive me for my sins of doubt and pride, and for thinking ill of your Apostles and resisting their will.
Even as she thought it, a tiny voice sneered somewhere deep inside her head. She knew she was lying to Him, that she would never forgive the Apostles nor give in again to their harsh rule. She'd have to try harder than this if she was to honour her promise to Ruth.
I'm sorry, Lord, I truly am. Please give me some kind of sign…tell me what we should do next.
Then, with more conviction, she added the thing that mattered most.
And, Lord, please, please don't let Joseph die.

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.
”