Somewhere beyond the tall canopy of trees, past the rich fronds, the razor sharp undergrowth and the intoxicating scent of the flesh-nut tree, the sun sets on the last day of the year.
In the shadow of the endless jungle, hooded figures stand in a circle, beads of sweat running down their temples.
“Rhesa, daughter of Lael.”
Bells ring.
One of the figures sways.
“Ozni, son of Yakob.”
Bells ring.
The figure crumples to the ground. The two people either side try to help them up but to no avail.
“Gideon, son of Lazarus”
Maryam’s jaw hardens in defiance as she speaks; this jungle will not defeat them. But even as she makes ready to speak another name her resolve wanes and she gives a small nod in Ahab’s direction.
Bells ring.
The fallen figure is carried to one side and laid gently on a blanket.
“Yosef, son of Rebecca”
Bells ring.
His breath rattles.
“Naomi, daughter of Rebecca.”
Bells ring.
She can see them, the urge to gather around him, the desire to run, the wish to die and be released form this punishment. She will not let it unravel. She must not let it all unravel.
“Sarah, daughter of Nathaniel,” she says, mustering all the presence that she can.
They ring their bells.
“Chloe, daughter of Meah.”
They ring their bells.
“Obadiah, son of Ruth.”
There it is done. Another year and it is done.
Night falls. Maryam takes the last Watch before dawn.
“My hands, sister, they are stained,” he says to her in a hoarse whisper.
“Here, let me wash them for you.” She gently holds the man’s hands, washing them with invisible water.
Ahab looks at her, pale eyes sunken deep in his skull. For a moment he seems to smile, then rattles one last breath and falls silent.
It is the day of rebirth and the count has already started.