Read Online Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) by Mandy Hager - Free Book Online
Authors: Mandy Hager
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memory or one that melded with the life-like image in the book.
At the end of Maryam's description Filza clapped her hands. “Same same.” She yawned, her jaw clicking as it extended as far as it would go, revealing a significant lack of teeth at the back. “You come another day. I teach you herbal obat then.”
For a moment Maryam's spirits lifted. “You mean the plant is here?” Hadn't Filza already told her it wasn't?
“You not hear?” Filza cleared mucous from the back of her throat and spat it with great precision out the door. “My home, yes. But no tree here. Nothing grow here.”
“But how—”
The old woman silenced Maryam with a sweep of her hand. “No more. I tell you when to come.” With that she closed her eyes and began stretching herself out on her stained sleeping mat to rest. Maryam realised she had no option but to leave.
Later that afternoon, as she lay on her own sleeping mat, restless as she waited for Ruth to return from the showers, she worried over this unexpected turn. Her plan had been to find the mahkota bunga tree, learn to brew the life-saving potion and then somehow attempt to transport cuttings or seeds from the tree back to her home. The trouble was, if Filza was right and the plant did not grow on this island and was, in fact, merely miriki-tarai by another name, she'd have to rely solely on the old woman's word. She'd be unable to test the potion before she risked it all and fled back to Onewēre with the promise of a cure. And promise she must, for she needed it to help convince her people that the Apostles had lied. And that in turn madethe cure quite possibly her only means of rallying support to protect her from Father Joshua's vengeance.
Ruth rushed in, her wet hair flying as she dived onto the mat. “Did you hear Aanjay yelling at Sergeant Littlejohn just now?”
“No.” Maryam sat up. Aanjay raise her voice? “Did you?”
“I sure did! She really had a go at him. It was clear as anything over by the showers.”
“What on earth was she yelling about?”
“Apparently when her mother died he promised her he'd organise for the body to be burnt, but she's just learnt that it was buried—and with two other corpses as well! Two men. The women at the showers say no one's ever heard her lose her temper like this before.” Ruth's eyes met Maryam's. “You're not going to believe this, but word is that he's thrown her in the cells.”
“What?” He'd lock Aanjay in? “That's ridiculous. The whole camp will go crazy.”
“I know. There's already talk of protests. The women at the showers say they'll refuse to co-operate with any of the Territorials until she's freed.”
Maryam leapt up from her mat. “That's it—I'm going to look for Charlie now. He's going to have to sort this out.”
Ruth scowled. “Maybe you should keep away…”
But Maryam was already heading out the door.
She ran along the walkway, outrage swilling around her like a choppy sea. A group of infuriated women had gathered by the stone building that housed the cells. As Maryam approached, she saw the door was defended by two armed guards, rather than the usual one. They stroked the triggers of their guns as iftheir fingers itched to shoot, their faces a study of impassive disregard for those among the crowd who pleaded for the release of Aanjay before the situation flared out of control. Usually this peacekeeping role was Aanjay's domain—it seemed incomprehensible that this time she was at the heart of such brewing discontent.
Maryam caught sight of Charlie in a heated argument with Sergeant Littlejohn at the entrance to the administration building. She wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying but could see the flush of anger on Charlie's neck as Littlejohn raised his index finger to prod him belligerently in the chest.
Charlie took a step backward, his hands tensing into fists. Maryam sensed his fury, and watched in admiration as he fought to rein in his anger. He stormed
At the end of Maryam's description Filza clapped her hands. “Same same.” She yawned, her jaw clicking as it extended as far as it would go, revealing a significant lack of teeth at the back. “You come another day. I teach you herbal obat then.”
For a moment Maryam's spirits lifted. “You mean the plant is here?” Hadn't Filza already told her it wasn't?
“You not hear?” Filza cleared mucous from the back of her throat and spat it with great precision out the door. “My home, yes. But no tree here. Nothing grow here.”
“But how—”
The old woman silenced Maryam with a sweep of her hand. “No more. I tell you when to come.” With that she closed her eyes and began stretching herself out on her stained sleeping mat to rest. Maryam realised she had no option but to leave.
Later that afternoon, as she lay on her own sleeping mat, restless as she waited for Ruth to return from the showers, she worried over this unexpected turn. Her plan had been to find the mahkota bunga tree, learn to brew the life-saving potion and then somehow attempt to transport cuttings or seeds from the tree back to her home. The trouble was, if Filza was right and the plant did not grow on this island and was, in fact, merely miriki-tarai by another name, she'd have to rely solely on the old woman's word. She'd be unable to test the potion before she risked it all and fled back to Onewēre with the promise of a cure. And promise she must, for she needed it to help convince her people that the Apostles had lied. And that in turn madethe cure quite possibly her only means of rallying support to protect her from Father Joshua's vengeance.
Ruth rushed in, her wet hair flying as she dived onto the mat. “Did you hear Aanjay yelling at Sergeant Littlejohn just now?”
“No.” Maryam sat up. Aanjay raise her voice? “Did you?”
“I sure did! She really had a go at him. It was clear as anything over by the showers.”
“What on earth was she yelling about?”
“Apparently when her mother died he promised her he'd organise for the body to be burnt, but she's just learnt that it was buried—and with two other corpses as well! Two men. The women at the showers say no one's ever heard her lose her temper like this before.” Ruth's eyes met Maryam's. “You're not going to believe this, but word is that he's thrown her in the cells.”
“What?” He'd lock Aanjay in? “That's ridiculous. The whole camp will go crazy.”
“I know. There's already talk of protests. The women at the showers say they'll refuse to co-operate with any of the Territorials until she's freed.”
Maryam leapt up from her mat. “That's it—I'm going to look for Charlie now. He's going to have to sort this out.”
Ruth scowled. “Maybe you should keep away…”
But Maryam was already heading out the door.
She ran along the walkway, outrage swilling around her like a choppy sea. A group of infuriated women had gathered by the stone building that housed the cells. As Maryam approached, she saw the door was defended by two armed guards, rather than the usual one. They stroked the triggers of their guns as iftheir fingers itched to shoot, their faces a study of impassive disregard for those among the crowd who pleaded for the release of Aanjay before the situation flared out of control. Usually this peacekeeping role was Aanjay's domain—it seemed incomprehensible that this time she was at the heart of such brewing discontent.
Maryam caught sight of Charlie in a heated argument with Sergeant Littlejohn at the entrance to the administration building. She wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying but could see the flush of anger on Charlie's neck as Littlejohn raised his index finger to prod him belligerently in the chest.
Charlie took a step backward, his hands tensing into fists. Maryam sensed his fury, and watched in admiration as he fought to rein in his anger. He stormed
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