Into the Wilderness: Blood of the Lamb (Book Two) (15 page)

He nodded, seemingly swept by exhaustion too. He made his way over to the huge crafted stone and locked his hands around it, bent his knees and just managed to lift it up. Then he dropped it down again and eyed Maryam's strapped, useless arm.

“Sister Ruth, can you help? If we lift it together, it will not be such a strain.”

“I'll try,” she said.

Together Lazarus and Ruth lifted the anchor stone with ease. They hauled it over to the side of the disabled boat, and Maryam helped as best she could to lash Joseph's body to the stone. It was so wrong, strapping him to this cold unforgiving weight—felt more like a punishment than something conceived from love.

When they were satisfied he was securely tied, Ruth stepped forward with her bedraggled Holy Book. As she flicked through the pages, panic seized Maryam again. To cast him overboard felt like a sin. To never see his face again…his startling eyes…his upturned lips…She could feel herself trembling, feel her breath growing ever more shallow and fast. Then Ruth began.

“I've chosen Revelation,” she told them. “It just feels right.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before she started to read. “
He said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more
—” Her chin started wobbling and she paused. Breathed deeply. Sniffed. Stared for a long moment at Joseph's face.

Maryam's shaking was now uncontrollable, her knees so weak she feared she would fall. She felt Lazarus's arm snake around her waist for support.

“Be strong,” he whispered. “Show Joseph you can still be strong.”

She blinked, unsure how to take his touch. But his words stuck in her mind and she roused herself, determined now to make Joseph proud. She looked to Ruth. “Go on,” she said.

Ruth clutched the Holy Book so tight her knuckles showed white through her skin. She cleared her throat and finished the reading in a rush: “
…neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.
” She closed the Book. “Rest easy with the Lord, Brother Joseph.” Tears crawled down her cheeks as she turned to Maryam. “Is there anything else you'd like me to say?”

Maryam shook herself from Lazarus's clutch. Crossed to Joseph. Placed a tender kiss onto his forehead, shuddering as she felt his chill beneath the sunlit layer of skin. “Goodbye my friend…my love.”

She watched with sick dizziness as Lazarus leaned over Joseph and kissed him as well. They had to do this now—get it over with before she lost her nerve. Together they hauled up Joseph's weighted body and pitched it clumsily into the sea. The water splashed up over them, smacking its lips as it received Joseph and swallowed him down. In only seconds he was gone.

Maryam sank down to her knees, her strength now spent. She raised her streaked face up to the heavens, releasing all her pain and anger in one almighty wail. Then, when no more air would feed her cry, she curled herself into a tiny ball of misery and blocked out the world.

As the day dragged on the wind picked up again, this time from the north. It buffeted the helpless boat at its will; the tiller was virtually useless without the steadying influence of the sails. The sea chopped up—nothing like the mountainous seas they'd already endured, but rough enough to make the ride uncomfortable and ripe for seasickness.

Maryam, Lazarus and Ruth lay on deck and did not speak.
It's all so pointless now
, Maryam thought. Her stomach groaned and grumbled but she had no desire to eat—she was sure she'd vomit food back up again as soon as it was swallowed down. Besides, there was very little left to tempt her. She was just so incredibly tired: tired of fighting, tired of running from danger, and tired, most of all, of the struggle to keep on living. She did not have the strength to feel angry any more, had slipped into a deadened state of limbo—flat and disconnected from the world at large.

Ruth seemed similarly afflicted, not even bothering to seek comfort from the Holy Book. Lazarus sat hunched against the shelter wall and stared blankly across the agitated swell. Defeat and hopelessness swarmed in the air around them. They were lost, and knew it; they were adrift at the feckless whim of wind and sea.

Late afternoon crept in barely noticed, and Lazarus finally rose from his refuge to relieve himself. “Holy Hell!” He flung himself onto the deck near Ruth and stared intently down into the bottom of the right-hand hull. At once he grabbed the jar he'd used to bail water earlier and yelled out to rouse the girls. “We're leaking bad!”

Ruth responded at once, snatching up a scoop and joining him in the hollow hull, where she began to bail as fast as she
could go. “How can there be so much when we've already blocked the hole?”

Lazarus pointed to the planks that formed the hull. “The storm must've worked apart their seams.” He glanced over at Maryam. “Come on, you have to help us here. It's serious.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the wind snatch at her hair.
Serious? What could be more serious than Joseph's death?

“Maryam!” It was Ruth this time. “Get over here. We're going to sink.”

Then let us
, Maryam thought. She had no fear with Joseph waiting down below.

“Maryam!” Ruth shouted at her now. “You have to help!”

The fear in Ruth's voice tugged her conscience: even if she wished death for herself, she couldn't let Ruth drown. She opened her eyes again, grunting as she rose, and it struck her how the deck leaned on an angle to the right. She moved more quickly now, rummaging through the debris until she found the fire-blackened pot they'd used for cooking.

The amount of water in the hull—the same hull that had hit the reef upon their entry to Marawa Island—shocked away the last of her haze. It was clear that the impact then, followed by the storm, had loosened all its joints. The water was nearly knee deep and steadily leaking in between the cracks as she started to bail with the pot, cursing under her breath as the motion of the boat kept jolting her off balance. With one arm useless, it was impossible to hold steady as she worked—she ended up kneeling in the bottom of the hull amid the sloshing water, bracing herself against its sides with her bare feet. She ached all over, certain that every part of her now bore some kind of bruise or scar. She'd been pitched straight back into another
kind of Hell, the numbing peace of limbo denied her yet again. Had the Lord not already made His point? Why did He insist on piling punishment after punishment to make His case?

No matter how fast they bailed, the water level didn't seem to drop. As the sun lowered in the sky, Ruth called a halt.

“This is ridiculous. I need to eat and drink.” She rose stiffly to her feet. “Maryam, you get yours while we keep on bailing, then when you're done we'll swap around.”

Maryam clambered up the sloping deck, shocked to see the lean was worse: they'd been bailing for hours now and made no gains. She was so hungry her fingers trembled as she tried to peel a bruised banana one-handed; the moment she succeeded she stuffed it straight into her mouth. The fruit was over-ripe and sickly sweet, but insufficient to quell her gnawing hunger even though it stopped the shakes. She carefully measured out a third of a cup of water, closing her eyes to savour every soothing drop.

When she could no longer put off her return to work, she stretched and glanced out to the west to gauge the position of the sinking sun. They had perhaps another hour of light at most. The thought of bailing through the night, not knowing what lay in store for them—

Wait!
There was a smudge to the north-west, something small and dark.

“You two, come up here quick!” She rubbed her eyes, desperately hoping they were not playing tricks.

Ruth and Lazarus leapt up to join her, tracking the direction of her pointing hand. There was definitely something there, but what?

“What on earth is it?” Lazarus squinted into the distance, biting at a piece of loose skin on his thumb.

Maryam stared so hard her eyes began to water and she cleared them with one impatient swipe of her hand. “Is it an island?” Something niggled at her brain. It was nothing like their first glimpse of Marawa; it did not look right. Too small, perhaps? Too indistinct?

Ruth's voice shook with uncertain awe. “Could it be another boat?”

Both Maryam and Lazarus turned to her, open-mouthed, then quickly swung back around again to see. Maryam's heart was racing now. What if, by some miracle, Ruth was right?

“Fire!” Maryam shouted now. “Let's build a fire! That's the only way anyone out there is going to see us.”

Lazarus snorted. “Are you mad? This boat is made of wood.”

“There has to be a way! If there
is
someone out there, we have to make them see.” She cast about frantically for something that might form a base that would not burn. There was kindling enough from the wreckage of the boat, and piles of salvaged stores. She reached over to the heap of shattered earthenware, and dragged out the base of a huge broken urn that had once stored water. “Here!” She picked up a pile of clothes. “If we wet these and lay them under that base, they'll help to contain the heat.”

Lazarus was shaking his head at her foolishness, when a flash of understanding dawned across his face. “It's crazy…but it just might work.” He snatched the clothing from her hand and rushed over to the leaking hull, plunging the fabric under the rising tide of water with a decisive splash.

They set to work, one eye always to the north-western horizon. The shape was definitely still there, slowly taking on a more solid form. But the sun was sinking lower now, and time
was short. They placed the makeshift fireplace near the leaking hull, close to water if it flared out of control. Besides, as soon as they had lit the fire, they'd have to resume bailing again. The water level had already risen higher and the boat heeled even further over to the right.

Thankfully, the sun had dried the thatch and wood, and Ruth had unearthed their flint and striker when she'd helped to clear the decks. As she and Maryam worked together to light the fire, Lazarus attacked the shelter's shattered framing, kicking and pulling at it until he'd hauled the whole thing down. He splintered the bamboo into strips to stop it spitting as it burnt; next he broke down the one remaining shelter wall: the pandanus thatch was excellent at producing smoke.

By the time the fire was sending forth a steady trail of thick white smoke, the last of the light was fading from the sky. They had eaten and drunk from their pitiful supplies, ready for the hard night of bailing ahead. But there was a feeling of desperate anticipation among them now—they'd watched the dark shape coming closer, even though the wind was blowing their own boat the other way. It
had
to be moving towards them.
It had to be.

Maryam was left to tend the fire while Lazarus and Ruth reluctantly climbed back into the hull to bail. She locked her eyes on the last place she'd seen the mysterious shape before the light had gone, fighting her exhaustion to stay alert. But it was hard to concentrate. Her arm began to throb and her mind returned to Joseph—the sky pressing dark and heavy on her mood. It reminded her how small and insignificant they really were, how fragile the tipping point between death and life.

She tried to conjure up a picture of his smiling face but saw, instead, the ugly marks that pocked his skin and shuddered
anew at the memory of his stiff, unyielding lips.
Joseph is dead.
The fire popped and crackled, sending a shower of sparks into the night, and she startled, turning her attention back to the distant dark horizon.

Suddenly she saw a flash of light, a beam that flared and swung in a slow arc across the ripples of the darkened sea. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the light was gone. She blinked, and blinked again, her pulse now thrumming in her ears. Had she imagined it, that light? Conjured it up out of desperation from the far reaches of her mind?

But then it came again. Another flare! Another searchlight cutting through the inky night.

She roared for Ruth and Lazarus, her eyes locked on the beam of light. Someone else was out there; someone who could offer help was sending out a clear signal that they had been seen. It was a miracle.

Huddled beside the signal fire on their listing boat, pinned by the searchlight's blinding glare, they could hear the ship before they saw it, the thunderous rumble much louder than the waste-powered engines used to heat the water and cookers in the Holy City back at home.

Maryam's stomach tied itself in anxious knots as a hulking black ship half the size of
Star of the Sea
slowly materialised from the darkness. Lights glowed from its control room, overshadowed by the searchlight as it made its way through the swell towards them. Maryam slipped her hand into Ruth's, and was momentarily comforted by her warm, familiar touch.

A disembodied voice barked out above the throbbing din. “Raise your hands above your heads.”

They did as they were told, though Ruth held fast to her Holy Book and Maryam was only able to lift her one uninjured arm. Her initial relief at hearing English spoken was dissipated by the threatening tone of the command, and she felt exposed and vulnerable as the ship edged close enough for them to see the shadowy swarm of crew on its deck.

“Prepare to be boarded. Do not move.” The man spoke curtly, his vowels flat and ugly to her ears.

“What are they doing?” Ruth whispered, her eyes wide and wild in the harsh stream of light.

“They mean to come aboard,” Lazarus said. He looked pale and tense as he turned to Maryam. “I don't like the feel of this.”

A cold shiver tiptoed down her spine as she watched them
lower a smaller craft down the big ship's side. It dropped into the swell, and she counted as six large men descended a swinging rope ladder to board it. Another motor whined and burst into life and then the little boat bounced across the narrow divide of sea. Oh, to have propulsion like that, Maryam thought, and not be reliant on wind and sail.

As soon as the craft drew near, a man stood up and threw a rope. Lazarus rushed to catch it, tying it off to the small remaining mast before stepping forward to greet the men as they boarded the stricken boat.

“Stand back!” a man's voice snapped. “Raise your hands.”

Lazarus reeled backwards, flinging his arms into the air again. His face hardened now, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing as the first of the rescuers stepped aboard. As each of them approached, Lazarus seemed to straighten and grow taller, bearing himself like the arrogant Apostle Maryam had first met.

One by one the intimidating group lined up on the listing deck. They stood to attention, legs splayed to balance in the sloppy swell. They were dressed in a uniform of murky green, their heads encased in unearthly mask-like helmets, and each of them clutched tightly to a long, strange-looking metal stick.

“What are they holding?” Maryam whispered to Lazarus.

“My guess is some kind of gun.”

She'd never heard this word before, but had no time to question him further as one of the men stepped forward and addressed Lazarus directly.

“You have entered our sovereign waters illegally. We order you to turn back now.”

Turn back? Could they not see the boat was sinking?

Lazarus cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “Our boat is damaged and we ask for refuge on your shores.”

The man studied him from head to toe before turning his attention to the girls. Though his eyes were hidden by the strange mask, Maryam sensed his hostility. Her arm throbbed in time with her racing heart as he stepped closer and spoke to her. “You are injured?”

She nodded. “Yes. A broken arm.”

“Anything else?”

She wondered if she should tell him about Joseph.
Joseph
. It hurt to even think his name. “No.”

He turned back to Lazarus. “Where have you sailed from?”

“We left Marawa Island around two days ago, I think, when we were hit by a storm.” Still holding his arms above his head, Lazarus's hands tightened to fists as he replied.

There was a ripple of movement from the men. One stepped forward and whispered in the interrogator's ear. They had an indecipherable exchange, before the leader addressed Lazarus again.

“All of you?”

“Yes.”

“Were you the only boat to leave those shores?”

“Yes.”

Again there was a brief whispered discussion between the two men, before another broke from the ranks and proceeded to turn the salvaged piles of debris over with his booted foot. The leader, though, approached Ruth and wrenched her copy of the Holy Book from her grasp.

“Where did you get this?”

Ruth shrugged, seemingly too terrified to reply. She shook uncontrollably as she struggled to keep her arms aloft.

The leader stared at Ruth for several long seconds before he shoved the Book back at her and spoke again. “We order you to turn back to the place of your departure. Should you fail to do so, you will be arrested and detained.”

“That's impossible,” Lazarus said. “We've lost the means to sail.”

“Not our problem, boy. We'll tow you out of our waters and then you're on your own.”

“You'd leave us out here to die?” Maryam could not contain her rage.

The man did not even deign to look at her, let alone answer. Instead, he signalled to one of his men, who retrieved a thick rope from the boarding craft and proceeded to tie it around the timbers that supported the figurehead at the bow. Once in place, the men retreated to their boat and made ready to return to the main ship to instigate the tow.

Ruth turned terrified eyes to Maryam. “They're not going to help us?”

“It appears not.” She was so angry and shocked, she struggled to speak. These men could see they were defenceless, injured and about to sink, and yet they would not help.

They watched in disbelieving silence as the men retreated to the ship and scaled its sides. Once aboard they secured the tow rope to an aft bollard, and waited briefly while the engines roared back into life.

The ship turned to the east, its wash nearly swamping the smaller crippled craft that wallowed in its wake. As the rope stretched and grew taut between the two vessels, Maryam, Lazarus and Ruth were jerked off their feet as their craft began to move.

“I can't believe this,” Maryam cried, awkwardly righting herself. “How can they just desert us?”

“Be warned,” Lazarus said. “Guns can kill from a great distance. Don't do anything to rile them or they'll likely shoot us all.”

“Shoot?” Maryam asked. “What do you mean?”

“I've seen one before, and read of them in books. They fire at great speed and can kill a man with just one strike.”

“You've seen one? Where?”

“My father has one hidden in his private rooms. It looks quite different from those but I'm sure they must be just as deadly. Father's belonged to his forefather, the first of the Holy Fathers—Captain Saul.”

“He's used it?”

Lazarus shrugged. “I don't know. But I've seen him take it out and clean it, just in case.”

Ruth remained on her knees, moaning so miserably as she clutched her Book that Maryam automatically moved to comfort her, though her own head whirled with frightening thoughts. Even if they
could
stop the boat from sinking, they had too little food and water to survive for long. And the towing was already taking its toll on what little remained of their boat, forcing more water in through the widening cracks.

“Back to the bailing!” She dragged Ruth after her as she jumped down into the damaged hull. Their so-called rescuers were not only deserting them. Now they seemed intent on sinking them as well.

Maryam fumed as the three of them worked frantically to drain the hull, though the boat seemed to be leaking as fast as they were bailing out. She
had
to think of something. If there
was only some way to convince those heartless men that it was better to take them in than to let them die at sea. There had to be some way to light a spark of human kindness in their hearts.

Light…Spark…Yes! Of course!
Surely they wouldn't desert us if the boat was destroyed right before their eyes?

She stopped bailing and drew Lazarus's attention with a nudge of her arm. She slid her eyes to the smouldering fire and subtly jerked her head.

“What if the fire burnt out of control…?”

She left the rest for him to imagine. What she was proposing was desperate and crazy, and just as likely to commit them to drowning as standing by helplessly as their boat was sunk. But, crazy or not, it just might work…might shame the foreign crew into rescuing them after all.

For a few heart-stopping seconds Lazarus just stared at her, his eyes flared in surprise, and she feared he had not understood. But then he nodded, his face grim as it set in a decisive scowl. “Are you prepared for the possible consequences if it doesn't work?”

She glanced at Ruth, her dearest friend, and nearly couldn't bring herself to follow through. But then her outrage won the battle for control. They had to try.

“Do we really have another choice?”

He downed his bailer and scrabbled back onto the deck, edging up to the fire as he held Maryam's watchful gaze. As unobtrusively as he could, first he moved the driest of the shredded thatch closer to the fire. Then he knocked the earthenware base of the fire off-balance with his toe and allowed the red-hot embers to spill out across the deck. Mission accomplished, he leapt back down to join Maryam and Ruth in the ruined hull.

Within seconds the flames caught on the piles of dry thatch and moved on to the kindling stored alongside. As the fire began to scorch the timbers of the deck, thick white smoke billowed up.
Forgive us
, Maryam cast out to Joseph's spirit, as she watched his father's precious handiwork succumb to the flames. She felt as if she had betrayed his whole family, destroying the one thing that had brought them hope.

“Fire! Help!” She shrieked as loudly as possible now, trying to project her desperation out above the rumbling of the big ship's motors.

Ruth took one look at the way the flames were licking at the timbers of the deck and screamed. As wild as a trapped animal, she fought off Maryam's reassuring hand to scoop up a pot of water to douse the flames.

“Leave it,” Maryam ordered. “I'm sure that they won't let us burn.” She glanced over at the towering ship, just able to make out a rush of silhouettes as the crew crowded the aft deck to watch.

Ruth struggled to push past her. “You're going to kill us all,” she shrieked. But she was blocked now by Lazarus, who wrestled the pot from her hand and flung it over the side into the sea. She beat at him with her fists, wailing with such frustration and fear that Maryam could feel it pressing on her heart.

She lunged for Ruth, not sure how long Lazarus's restraint would hold, and dragged her out of his reach, feeling the heat of the fire as it ate into the boat's structural timbers and really started to take hold.

“Come on,” she urged, the smoke stinging her eyes and making it ever more difficult to see. “If you want to yell at anyone, yell at
them
.” She pointed through the smoke to the
black ship, which had slowed its motors and now idled out of reach.

All three clambered to the very prow of their boat, where the carved warrior glared out at the foreign ship as though to curse it. “Help! Help!” They had no need to feign panic. The fire scorched at their backs and lit up the sea around them. Nor had they bargained on the acrid smoke that filled the sky, catching in their throats to set them coughing and spluttering.

“Why aren't they doing anything?” Maryam cried. She was terrified, trapped between the fire and the fathomless sea.

“We're going to die,” Ruth wailed, before she was overcome by such a bad fit of coughing that she doubled over, wheezing, as she tried to catch her breath.

“We'll have to abandon ship,” Lazarus shouted above the din. His eyes were streaming and bloodshot as he grabbed each girl roughly by one arm. “Whatever you do,” he gasped, struggling to breathe through the stifling clouds of smoke, “just make sure we all go in together and hold on tight.”

He did not give them time to argue, throwing himself off the side and pitching them over with him as he dropped. They splashed down in a struggling heap, wrenched from his grip as they plunged beneath the swell.

The water sucked Maryam under and, though she tried to surface, without the use of both her arms she could not seem to rise. Her chest was burning from the strain of holding her breath, her pulse beating fast and panicked in her ears. She was tumbled around beneath the swell, the unholy glow of the flames lighting the surface of the water like Hell's sunset as she forced her eyes open, trying to locate Lazarus or Ruth. But she could see nothing, her hair splaying out around her,
tangling like unruly seaweed as it wound around her face. She could not hold her breath much longer now, her lungs so tight and bursting that she tried releasing the pressure inside one air bubble at a time—feeling the seductive urge to just give up the fight and seek out Joseph in the sea's dark depths.

But then Ruth's frightened face flashed through her mind, and she mustered up the strength for one last desperate bid to free her broken arm from its restrictive binding, to no avail. But the force of pain so ambushed her she automatically opened up her mouth to scream, and water started pouring down her throat.