Chapter 19 Daylan
nineteen
Daylan
The edges of the wound in my arm are tender as Lazarus peels away the cloth he placed there. There is a sting as the fabric clings to my skin, but it is not terrible. Not as terrible as the bite itself was, that much I know for certain.
“I didn’t turn damned,” I comment, with a small smile as Lazarus scrutinizes the teeth imprints in my skin.
Two days have passed and aside from moments spent eating, Lazarus has laid with me on this mattress, head resting on my chest. Even when I have shifted to change positions for comfort, he has followed behind.
Now, as I sit propped against the wall, he sits alongside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his skin against mine.
I wonder if this will stop now that I am clearly not going to become one of the zombies he told me of.
I wonder what it means that I am already mourning the loss of his gentle touch.
“It will scar.”
“That’s okay.” It has to be. Nothing I can do will undo the teeth marks in my arm. They join the other marks on my body left behind by Father’s whip in the moments I needed to be corrected.
“You’re pretty calm about this,” he comments, grabbing a clean strip of cloth and wrapping it around the bite.
“Blessed be the faithful who bears the scars of growth.” A line from the Book of the Father I was made to recite as a child.
Lazarus goes still, drawing his eyes up to stare at me expectantly, though I don’t know what he is looking for. “That’s not how it goes.”
“It is.”
“Blessed be the Seeker who bears the scar of truth,” he says. “That’s the verse.”
“No,” I reply, for I am certain. I have spent hours reading through the Book of the Father to learn and memorize the sacred verses and lines contained within. “It is Blessed be the faithful who bears the scars of growth. It has always been that.”
“Wrong, Lambchop. That ain’t it.” I frown and he laughs, shaking his head.
“It is. Your verse makes no sense. What is a Seeker?”
“Are you not called that anymore? The Seekers of Salvation?”
“We’ve never been called Seekers,” I say. “We are the faithful. We are Bright Haven, but we aren’t the Seekers.”
“Huh,” Lazarus says, with a shrug. “They used to be called that. Father used to tell us that our duty was to be good Seekers for the Lord and to live in the truth of His word. The Book of the Faith used to use that word for us.”
“It’s the Book of the Father,” I reply, with a sigh. “Perhaps it is a different book that guided you. We follow the Book of the Father.”
Lazarus hums under his breath as if he is thinking. “The must be the same. The verses we know are similar enough, despite the differences. Who wrote your book?”
“God provided the words to Father upon the death of his grandparents and he wrote them down and shared them with us all.”
“Wrong. Father and his Lamb sat in the longhouse and wrote the book together after the death of their grandparents. Your verse is not the original.”
I am shaken, staring hard at Lazarus as I try to make sense of what he is telling me. “Father would not change verses.”
“For God giveth the Lamb salvation, that all should be set free through the-”
“Glory of his blood,” I finish, cutting him off. “I know the verse.”
“Sacrifice,” Lazarus says, shaking his head. “Sacrifice of his blood.”
I narrow my eyes, frustration bubbling inside me. I know these verses like I know my own heartbeat. “That’s not right.”
Lazarus laughs again. “It is.”
“Why would Father change verses in the holiest book?”
“Well, the Lamb was sacrificed,” Lazarus offers, a wicked grin on his lips. “Has salvation come? Are you all free now?”
“Fuck you,” I blurt out , losing all of my composure and patience. My head reels, my arm aches, and I have had enough of being poked at by this devil.
Lazarus’ mouth opens in mock surprise as his eyes glimmer with joy. “Foul words beget foul deeds. Cursing is a sin.”
My blood boils. “I cannot sin.”
“Sure you can, Lambchop. You just did, and it was a pretty good one. Your first time?”
“I cannot sin. I make mistakes, but they are not sin, for I am the Lamb.”
Lazarus cackles loudly into the space between us. I scowl as he carries on, pausing once to look at my face before breaking into peals of laughter again. Finally, he calms himself down and gasps for a breath. “Lamb. Listen very carefully, okay? What is a weakness that all men must bear?”
“The weight of sin,” I retort, for this scripture I know well. “The Lord’s Word. Chapter 7, verse seventeen.”
“Huh. That one is the same. Okay, and what is a sin?”
“An act of malice, depravity or blasphemy.” I roll my eyes at him, and he chuckles. “I know what sin is, Lazarus.”
“Is cursing not an act of malice, depravity or blasphemy?”
“Yes.”
“So how is it that when someone else curses, it is a sin, but when you do, it is called a mistake? Seems to be the same thing to me, Lambchop.”
“They are not.” I don’t like the way this conversation is making me feel inside.
I am becoming undone, my stomach bubbling and my nerves firing all at once.
There should be no truth in what the devil says, yet his words make sense to me.
I have been in his company for far too long.
That is the only explanation I have. “I do not sin. I have been taught well to mind my mistakes. I have been corrected for each one I have made to better align with a Godly way.”
“Corrected how?” Lazarus asks.
“Ye who live with the blessing of the Lord shall not oppose God’s divine task set out before ye. Should ye err, each word and deed shall be struck from thine body, flesh and bone. The Lamb’s Duty. Chapter 3, verse sixteen to nineteen.”
“The Lamb’s what?”
“The Lamb’s Duty. A directive from God on how his Blessed Lamb should behave and be perceived by others.” I smile with satisfaction that he does not know this passage of the most holy of books, and everything settles a bit inside of me.
“That didn’t exist in the Book of the Faith.”
“Because your book isn’t real. You are messing with me as the devil does.”
“I’m not. I promise you. Seekers and the Book of the Faith are very real. At least they were when I lived at Bright Haven. Explain that verse to me again. The one about striking bones or whatever it was.”
“Should ye err, each word and deed shall be struck from thine body, flesh and bone. It’s an instruction to the Father on how to punish the Lamb’s mistake so that he may learn the ways of God.
” Lazarus is silent, lips pursing and eyebrows furrowing as I speak, but I can tell he is listening intently for more.
A question comes to me though that I am unsure I should speak out loud.
I watch him carefully, judging his mood before I take the risk. “Was Ezekiel-”
Lazarus’ eyes snap to mine, cold and hard. “Speak really fucking carefully. I may be entertaining this conversation, and I may feel shitty that you were bitten, but not shitty enough to tolerate many questions with his name in them.”
“Was Ezekiel not corrected?” I ask as gently as I can.
Lazarus snorts a wry laugh, shaking his head. “Ezekiel was never punished in life as he should have been for the sins he committed. Maybe he is now, but when he breathed, there was no justice. I bore the weight of his sins against me.”
“You were whipped in his stead?” It is an appalling thought Lazarus was made to sit in place of the Lamb and receive Father’s correction.
If that is the reason he brings nightmares to Bright Haven, I can make that make sense inside my head.
Not that I agree, but I can understand the hatred born of bearing the weight of someone else’s sins.
Lazarus meets me with fury in his eyes, and I sink a bit where I sit, certain I’ve stumbled upon the catalyst behind him plaguing the community with devilry.
“You were whipped?” Lazarus asks, his voice low and dangerous. He glances down at my bare torso, free of marks and blemishes except for the small birthmark by my bellybutton.
My heart kicks a bit in my chest, alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind. He is mad, and I have to tread carefully here. “You were not? You said you were made to bear Ezekiel’s sins.”
“Metaphorically, Lambchop. He fucking whips you when you’re bad? Like you are an animal that won’t break beneath him?”
“It is a correction.”
“It is fucking horrid, is what it is,” Lazarus exclaims. “I can’t believe you would just let Father do that to you and not question it. What the hell is wrong with you? Do you not know your worth?”
His words hit like the whip against my back did, each one stinging long after they are spat out of his mouth.
“I am to be perfect, Lazarus. That is my value. That is the sum of my duty to Bright Haven and God’s people.
You wouldn’t understand. You are not a Lamb.
The directives are meant for me and me alone. ”
“You are human, Daylan. You are human. Just like me. Just like Father. You are a good person who does good things, but you are still just human.”
“I am more.” I am human, but I am the Lamb of God. Lazarus can’t be right, but he has never lied to me before. Even in his most wicked moments, he has been honest, and that rattles me inside.
“No, Lambchop,” he says, with a wry laugh. “You aren’t, and that you have been beaten into believing you are is the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”