Page 81 of The Running Grave

She made a wordless gesture of dismissal at Becca, who left, closing the temple doors quietly behind her.

‘Please, sit down,’ said the woman to Fire Group, indicating benches directly in front of her. When all the recruits had taken their seats, she said,

‘My name is Mazu Wace, but church members call me Mama Mazu. My husband is Jonathan Wace—’

Marion Huxley let out a tiny sigh.

‘—founder of the Universal Humanitarian Church. You have already rendered us service – for which I thank you.’

Mazu pressed her hands together, prayer style, and bowed as they’d just seen Becca do. The crookedly set, shadowed eyes were darting from face to face.

‘I’m about to introduce you to one of the meditation techniques we use here to strengthen the spiritual self, because we cannot fight the ills of the world until we are able to control our false selves, which can be as destructive as anything we may encounter outside.’

Mazu began to pace in front of them, her robes fanning out behind her, glittering in the light from hanging lanterns. Around her neck, on a black cord, she wore a flat mother-of-pearl fish.

‘Who here has sometimes been prey to shame, or guilt?’

Everyone raised their hands.

‘Who here sometimes feels anxious and overwhelmed?’

All put their hands up again.

‘Who sometimes feels hopeless in the face of world issues like climate change, wars and rising inequality?’

The entire group raised their hands for a third time.

‘It’s perfectly natural to feel those things,’ said Mazu, ‘but such emotions hamper our spiritual growth and our ability to effect change.

‘I’m now going to teach you a simple meditation exercise,’ said Mazu. ‘Here in the church, we call it the joyful meditation. I want you all to stand up…’

They did so.

‘Spread out a little – you should be at least an arm’s length apart…’

There was some shuffling.

‘We begin with arms hanging loose by your sides… now, slowly… slowly… raise your arms, and as you do so, take in a deep breath and hold it, while your hands join over your head.’

When everyone had clasped their hands over their heads, Mazu said,

‘And exhale, slowly lowering your arms… and now smile. Massage your jaw as you do so. Feel the muscles’ tightness. Keep smiling!’

A tiny gust of nervous laughter passed through the group.

‘That’s good,’ said Mazu, staring down at them all, and she smiled again, as humourlessly as before. Her skin was so pale, her teeth looked yellow by contrast. ‘And now… I want you to laugh.’

Another ripple of laughter ran through the group.

‘That’s it!’ said Mazu. ‘It doesn’t matter if you’re faking at first. Just laugh. Come on, now!’

A couple of recruits forced faked laughs, which elicited real ones from their companions. Robin could hear her own fake laughter over the apparently sincere giggles of green-haired Penny.

‘Come on now,’ said Mazu, looking down at Robin. ‘Laugh for me.’

Robin laughed more loudly, and catching the eye of a mousey-haired youth who was determinedly, though very insincerely, guffawing, found herself amused and broke into real laughter. The infectious sound made her neighbours join in, and soon, Robin doubted whether there was a single person not genuinely laughing.

‘Keep it up!’ said Mazu, waving her hand around at them, as though conducting an orchestra. ‘Keep laughing!’