The Crossing by Mandy Hager Page A

other activity around her, amazed by the quantity of toddy being made. There were many, many large pots of it—each one heated over the fireless stove until it boiled, then strained through cloth to cool and ferment in huge clay pots. So this was how the sacrificial toddy was made. It all made sense: the yellow staining on the hands; the yellow eyes. No one could make contact with this brew and be left unmarked.
    What amazed her more than anything was how frequently the servers dipped into the fermenting brew and tasted it, just to check the mix was right. They obviously liked the stuff, their smiles and laughter increasing as the morning hurried on.
    By the time Mother Jael called a halt for lunch, Maryam's arms ached from the effort. She scrubbed her hands to clear the stain, following Rebekah as the servers carried platters of the prepared food into the near-full dining room.
    Once the Apostles and their families had been served, the others were allowed to sit. The babble stopped, as Father Joshua rose from his chair at the very centre of the room and raised his hand.
    â€œLet us thank the Lord for our food.” He led the blessing, his eyes sweeping the faces of those gathered while he recited the words. As his gaze fell on Maryam it stopped, boring into her with such intensity she felt her brain would burst. She tried to hold his stare but failed. Why did this man frighten her so? Was he not the Lamb's special chosen one? Mother Lilith sat next to him, and the way she leaned up close to him made Maryam wonder if she was his wife. Hushai had called her Holy Mother, she recalled.
    She searched the room for Joseph. Lazarus was there, bending over a young server with a condescending smile that made the poor girl shrink and blush. And Joseph's mother, Deborah, pale and silent at the table where Father Joshua now sat. But there was no sign of the boy himself, and disappointment bruised Maryam's heart. He had shown such kindness at her plight.
    Now the room surrendered to the clattering of cutlery on plates and relaxed talk, and Maryam quickly dug into her own food. The green plantain curry tasted wonderful, even better than the milder version Mother Evodia was so famous for back home. There was something about the gentle pervading heat of the food, together with the ordinary happy human noises of the room, which swept away Maryam's unease. This was how she'd dreamed it, full-bellied and happy in a room of such dimension and exotic decoration that she knew she'd Crossed over to the Lord's sacred house. Perhaps all that seemed to have befallen her since her arrival was a strange delusion caused by the drink? Maybe she had dreamed it all.
    Even her imposed silence bothered her less, allowing her to meld into the group without the need for constant questioning or awkwardness. Mother Michal must have known this, andMaryam was grateful now for the older woman's common sense. There was so much she did not yet fully understand—she had to trust that the Apostles knew what was best. After all, had they not picked her out as special when she was a tiny child? Why bother to raise her on the atoll, protected from the ravages of the Tribulation that still lingered on Onewēre, if they did not have her best interests at heart?
    At the end of the meal, she helped the other kitchen servers clear the dishes from the room. Feeling the prickle of someone's gaze upon her, she turned to find Lazarus smirking at her from the doorway. He rubbed the place upon his cheek where she had slapped him, wagging an admonishing finger as he grinned. But there was nothing truly friendly in the smile and she turned away, refusing to respond. He was a tease, that was all. His words meant nothing: they were designed to scare a newcomer and make her doubt. But she was stronger than he thought—she would not allow his childish games to stir her now she'd survived the tests and been accepted to the flock.
    Those tests had surely stripped her of