Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) (30 page)

Mother Lilith weighed the gun in her palm before slipping it into the waistband of her skirt. There was a twitching in her jaw, as though she chewed over her answer. Finally she flicked her gaze from her husband to Lazarus, then back to him. “Cursed be he that doeth the work of the Lord deceitfully, and cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood.” She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, scraping back an invisible hair. “Come, son, and be seated,” she ordered Lazarus, nudging him toward his father's ornate throne.

“Remember our pact,” Maryam called after Lazarus, daring
say no more but terrified he'd do something rash. If he spoke out and was killed for it, it would surely kill her too.

He turned for a moment to glance at her. Now was the time to tell him she loved him, Maryam realised, but a commotion from below drew Maryam's eye back to the baying crowd. Vanesse was being escorted through it, her head held high despite the shock that paled her face. A burly server led her up to the stage and quickly bound her hands to the other cross.

“No!” Maryam yelled for all she was worth, though her cry barely registered above the commotion of the crowd. “This cannot be. Vanesse has done nothing wrong.”

“Silence,” Father Joshua bellowed back. “This deceitful woman helped to spread your blasphemous lies. Today you both stand indicted before the Lord.”

“I'm so sorry, Vanesse,” Maryam called. The ache in her chest was so great, she felt as if it would implode. “This is all my fault.” She hated Father Joshua for this. Hated that he used Vanesse to punish her.

Vanesse's eyes were remarkably calm. “We are each responsible for our own actions, little Sister. My life is mine to give.”

“But you must fight this,” Maryam said. “Please don't give up.” She scoured the throng below the stage, hoping to find a friendly face, but there was no one. The villagers were all wide-eyed and craning necks, in awe of the miraculous extravagance laid out before them. Maryam couldn't believe how many of them there were, packing the enormous auditorium like shoaling fish.

Now Father Joshua planted himself at the very centre of the stage, haloed by the altar-piece, and ordered one of his personal servers to blow the conch shell seven times. As the long
pure notes rang out, a hush fell over the room, so charged with excitement and expectation it thickened the air.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” He swept his gaze over his audience, as though seeking to winkle out sinners. “All things were made by Him—man, woman, sky, sea, fish, animal and bird—but most importantly He made The Rules.” There was a collective murmur, as his direction grew more clear. “Recite with me now, my children, the great wisdom set down by Holy Father Saul. Rule Number One: There is but one thing in the world that can cleanse us of our sins, and that is the power of the Blood of the Lamb. Rule Number Two: By the sacred power of His Blood…”

Like an explosive dawn chorus the words took flight as the hundreds crammed within the walls gave The Rules voice. Maryam loathed them now, those ten deceptively simple rules; despised how they could be twisted to whatever shape was needed to maintain control. No talk of love or tolerance, instead just domination, servitude, sacrifice, obedience—and punishment, of course, should all else fail.

When the congregation finished its recitation Father Joshua raised his hand and pointed it at Maryam, his arm rigid with potent force. “Who art thou, to claim purity and knowledge only privy to the Lord? A prophetess? An angel? Or Lucifer's witch?” His eyes bored into her, eyebrows raised to emphasise his disbelief.

“I am merely myself,” Maryam said. Her throat was tight, reluctant to release the words. “And all I've ever done is try to tell the truth.”

He charged at her, the congregation responding with an
excited gasp as he loomed over her. “Truth? You speak of truth while claiming that the Lord's anointed Apostles tell falsehoods?”

Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the movement must be visible through her skin. She cast about, trying to decide how best to answer him, but then her gaze caught on a figure at the very back of the hall. Her father. His arms were crossed over his bony chest, his face a mask of utter fury. It made her want to howl, knowing that his fury was directed at her threat to the Apostles, not the other way around.
Forgive me, Father, I know you think I have sinned. But if ever I needed you to come to my aid the time is now
. Almost as if he'd heard her, his eyes lifted to her face, but when he saw her regarding him back he flicked his gaze to Father Joshua, refusing to acknowledge the connection at all.

“What? You answer nothing?” Father Joshua goaded.

“I…I—” She turned to Lazarus, sitting slumped on his father's ornate throne. He locked his eyes with hers: silenced, bruised and battered, but still stubbornly transmitting strength. “All I know is that I've never lied. There is a cure for Te Matee Iai. There are others beyond our shores.” Now she braved her accuser's hostile stare. “And you have been responsible for stealing Blessed Sisters’ blood—and lives.”

The auditorium erupted. Many in the audience leapt from their seats to lunge toward the stage. Again, Father Joshua ordered the conch shell to be blown, signalling for silence.

“Pray tell us, Sister Maryam,” he said. “In the midst of all this blatant blasphemy, do you still love the Lord?”

Why was he asking her this again? Had she not already told him what she thought the first time?

“I love the Lord's message of—”

“Oh no you don't. Just give a simple yes or no.” He paused dramatically, gesturing toward the Lamb upon the cross. “Sister Maryam, do you believe the Lord exists?”

She knew what he was trying to do and desperately groped around inside her head for a way to counter it—knowing if she told the truth as plainly as she felt it, she'd be torn to shreds. Yet two could play at his game. If he could cite the Holy Book for his own ends, then so could she.

“Judge not, that ye be not judged,” she said. “For with what judgement ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”

The congregation was having none of this. They took up Father Joshua's taunt. It built like a thunderclap, ringing in her ears.
Yes or no. Yes or no
.

“It seems the Lord's disciples are not so easily fooled by your deceit.” Again he rushed her like a fighting cock, his face so close she could smell toddy on his breath. “Perhaps you'll find this next question a little easier to answer. Is it true, Sister, that you are in league with those who worship false and craven gods?”

There was another communal gasp, and she felt her last vestiges of calm dissolve. She spun her head around toward Lazarus, knowing the seed of this accusation must have come from his outburst when they'd first accosted him. He sat up stiffly now, as though impaled by the cold metal of the gun his mother brandished at his back. But his bottom lip betrayed his agitation, a jagged line of blood marking where he'd clamped his teeth. He met her gaze, and such sorrow leached from him that she looked away. Poor Lazarus. How was he to know this would be the hammer his father would use to drive home the final nails?

She swallowed hard, fighting to clear resistance from her throat.
“I've met with many different people in the world beyond our shores.”

“And you commune with these false gods.” A statement, as if there were no doubt. Again the crowd responded with a rabid roar.

Maryam's focus was drawn back to her father, who cringed where he stood, his hands spread over his face to block her out. It was too humiliating to watch, so she closed her eyes and sought the essence of her mother in her thudding, panicked heart.
Help me, she pleaded. Give me strength
.

As gentle and all-pervading as the tide, she felt a stirring inside her, and had a vision of her mother squatting by the sea, delivering her the words she needed to express.
Only the truth will do
.

“I don't believe it matters who or what someone believes in,” she declared now, projecting her words so her father could not fail to hear. She opened her eyes again, using them to implore the congregation to really hear. “It's how we choose to live our lives that matters, good or bad.”

“So you admit to serving Lucifer's spawn?” Father Joshua's face was mottling to an unhealthy red.

“I admit nothing. I'm merely saying there are good people everywhere—all believing different things—and the only thing that really matters is that they act from love, not hate.”

“Who are you, Jezebel, to speak of good?” He lunged at her, taking up a great handful of the scarlet cloth and tearing it from the bodice, leaving the gown hanging in tatters to expose everything below her waist. “You call yourself a prophetess, teach my servants blasphemy, seduce them to commit fornication and sacrifice to idols, and when I counsel you to repent, you repent not.” He tossed the shredded fabric at her feet so that it lay beneath her like a glistening pool of blood.

She was so appalled she couldn't think. Beyond the stage the crowd was on its feet now, demanding retribution. She struggled to shelter her pubic hair by lifting one thigh across the other, but it left her precariously balanced on one foot. Maryam had never known such panic. Meanwhile, Lazarus reared up in his chair, fists clenched, only to have his mother press the gun into the nape of his neck. His face, too, was now flushed a florid red.

Maryam caught his eye. “Be still,” she called to him. “You must save yourself.” Her words seemed only to ignite his fury further, his nostrils flaring and his eyes flashing white. “I love you,” she mouthed, battling against her own terror in her attempt to transmit calm. But, rather than pacify Lazarus, her admission seemed to flay him. He let out one heart-piercing cry and sank his head into his hands, his back rocked by sobs.

Chaos was breaking out among the watchers now, many knocked over and trampled as a surge of people rushed toward the stage. Father Joshua held up his hands to stay them, directing his loyal band of servers to step in and hold back the crowd.

“I know, dear children, how you love the Lord, and how it angers you to see his Apostles so blatantly mocked. What would you have me do to this godless liar?”

“I believe in her!” Vanesse broke in, her words cutting through the din to deliver her fellow villagers an oral slap. “Open your eyes! Look honestly at what is taking place!”

Brother Luke rushed at her, striking her so hard across her face Maryam saw instantly that he'd dislodged her jaw. Vanesse shrieked, but could say not more. She was consumed by pain.

“How could you do that?” Maryam screamed. “Have you people no conscience?”

Father Joshua shouted her down. “Heed Exodus, my brethren. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live…and she that sacrificeth unto any god, save unto the Lord only, shall be utterly destroyed.” He reached out and grabbed the neck of her bodice, dragging it down to expose her breasts. “Behold, I am against thee, saith the Lord of hosts; and I will discover thy skirts upon thy face, and I will shew the nations thy nakedness, and the kingdoms thy shame. And I will cast abominable filth upon thee, and make thee vile, and will set thee as a gazingstock.”

There was no point in holding back now. It was clear this game could only end in her death.

“He's lying to you, can you not see this? He's used the plague to keep us under his control.”

“Give me any plague, but the plague of the heart: and any wickedness, but the wickedness of a woman.”

“You have the right to live in freedom! The Apostles have riches and knowledge they withhold. Who among you will stand with me? Who of you are brave enough to fight for what is right?”

Father Joshua snarled like a vicious dog then, punching her just below her ribs to wind her so she could not speak.

“Yes indeed, sinners. The question is a good one. Who will stand beside this Jezebel? Who of you are willing to side with Lucifer and plead for her life?”

The room grew so ominously quiet, Vanesse's grunts of pain could be plainly heard. Maryam's pulse beat wildly and she feared her whole body would explode as she struggled to control her jagged breath. No one was standing up for her. No one would speak. This is it. The end. She raised her eyes to seek out her father, spying him cowering near the doors.

“Father, why have you forsaken me?”

His head shot up, caught off guard by her direct plea.

“All I ever did was speak the truth.”

He stared at her with such shock and puzzlement she couldn't figure out what was going on until she felt something warm trickle down the inside of her thigh. She glanced down, shocked to see that Father Joshua's blow had somehow dislodged the overloaded sea sponge and an overflow of blood was seeping between her legs. Others must have seen it as well, for a mystified buzz rippled through the crowd.

Natau limped forward, pushing through the blockade of bodies until he neared the front of the stage. “You really were a virgin, child?” The uncertainty and waver of compassion in his voice almost did her in.

Oh Lord, it seemed he thought the blood was some kind of supernatural phenomenon, sent to prove her claims that she'd been pure. What should she do? She'd based her whole existence on speaking the truth. She cast about, finding Lazarus's eyes locked on her own. He nodded, as if compelling her to seize this tiny thread of hope. But it was a lie, there was no getting round it. Her Bloods were not—Wait! Surely it was not a lie to confirm she'd never lain with a man in quite that way. This she could assert with a clear heart.

“Yes, Father. I spoke the truth.”

Her stomach tensed. If she'd misjudged it and there really was a Lord, now was definitely the moment he'd strike her down.

“You've never lied?” How old Natau looked. How utterly destroyed.

“No, Father.” Her throat ached with years of unshed tears.

Natau sniffed loudly. “Then I believe you, daughter, and
ask for your forgiveness—for how could I ignore the Lord's miraculous sign.”

“I believe her too,” another shouted from the crowd. Lesuna, bless her.