Antony answered her. “No, you stay here and pray. Get the Sisters to pray with you.”
“But—” she started to protest.
Antony put a hand briefly on her shoulder. “I’m hoping this will be a simple bonfire, but if we are to encounter active evil, nothing is needed more than faith and prayer. It’s the first thing I teach my deliverance ministry students—to have a group of people praying concurrently with, but separately from, the work of the priest.” His voice carried a ring of authority that he seldom summoned.
“Right.” Nancy turned and darted up the sloping lawn to the retreat house.
“We…” Evie got no further before Antony stopped her.
“Don’t even think about it. Jared, you take these two to the house. Lock them in their room if you have to.”
Jared grinned and took each protesting girl by an arm. Antony turned to Chloe, who was clutching her camera like a weapon.
But this time he was preempted. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay way back. Freedom of the press and all that. Besides, you might need documentation.”
Antony shook his head. “I don’t have time to argue.” He tossed his hastily shed vestments on a chair and ran out toward the minibus.
They were almost to the end of the lane when they saw a figure jogging in the dusky light. But when they came alongside, Felicity saw that it wasn’t Michael. Michael was nowhere to be seen on the road leading into St David’s. “Could he walk that fast? We couldn’t have missed him, could we?”
“Not unless he ran all the way, or someone came to pick him up in a vehicle,” Antony said. “I suppose he could have gone an entirely different direction.”
“Let’s carry on to the Bishop’s Palace, in case our guess is right,” Ryan urged.
“It’s definitely not on a hilltop, and it’ll be closed at this hour,” Antony argued, but he continued driving.
Rather than approaching from Nun Street, which would take them to the cathedral, Antony turned down a country lane that ran behind the east range of the palace and parked beneath a clump of trees lining the way. Beyond the low stone wall, the field stretched flat and green—and completely devoid of any activity.
“Well, there would be plenty of space to build a bonfire here,” Ryan began.
“But no one did.” Felicity let her discouragement show in her voice. They sat observing the deserted, bucolic scene spread before them. In the growing dark, the arches of Bishop Gower’s distinctive arcaded parapet topping the broken wall, and the wheel window of the Great Hall with the belltower of the Great Chapel behind it took on a ghostly distinction that brought to life the powerful impact this building must have made on medieval visitors. Indeed, Felicity felt its magnetic force even now.
Then she caught her breath. “Antony!” She grabbed his arm and pointed. “There! At the end of the arcade. Did you see that?”
“What? I didn’t see anything.”
Felicity blinked to be sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks. “I’m sure I saw a movement.” She paused. “There! Again. There’s someone up there.”
“Could just be a bird,” Antony began, but Felicity was already out of the minibus, darting across the road. She was barely aware of the scratchy bushes and the crumbled wall that had once surrounded the property.
Vaguely aware of Antony and Ryan behind her, she set out at a lope toward the more modern wall, erected to make sure visitors didn’t enter without paying the entrance fee. But even this hardly slowed her down as she grasped the rough top and jammed her toes into whatever foothold the uneven stones provided, completely heedless of the scuffing it gave her shoes. Now she was inside the enclosure, looking up at the magnificent wall before her. A solid wall. If she had, indeed—and she was sure she had—seen someone moving about on the parapet running straight above her head, how was she to get up there? The tall arched window opening two floors above stared back at her like a dead eye.
Antony and Ryan caught up with her. “What do you mean by darting off like that?” Antony began, but she put her finger to her lips.
She heard something. It could have been the breeze playing in the stone arches, but equally it could have been a murmur of voices. A chant, even. She looked to her left. Was that a faint glow of light through the wheel window? Were the girls right? Was someone building a bonfire— inside the Bishop’s Palace? Keeping to the shadows, she moved along the solid stone barrier.
Felicity pointed emphatically to her right, indicating that Ryan should investigate the east range, then to her left for Antony to take the west.
“We’ll be right back,” he whispered. “Wait here.”
She had little enough choice, since she was faced with a stone wall. Then she saw the opening. A small arched passage that hardly showed in the dark. Of course. The undercroft ran all the length of the range, and the supply rooms under the Great Hall would have been some of the most important. It was undoubtedly where the wine had been stored to provide for the guests at Bishop Gower’s magnificent banquets. A delivery cart would have unloaded here; there would be a stairway directly up to the hall. If only it wasn’t broken beyond ascending.
Felicity groped her way through the total blackness of the undercroft, her hand trailing along the stones to guide her to the inside wall, and then the stairwell. Now she felt with both feet and hands, instinctively stooping to protect her head. Her feet found the wedge-shaped stones, worn slick-smooth by centuries of use, ascending in a tight spiral. Her fingers slid over moss growing on the wall; then, thankfully, she grasped the thin pipe railing installed for the safety of modern visitors, although such a nighttime invasion would hardly have been envisioned.
She held her breath as she approached eye level of the hall floor. It was unlikely anyone in the Great Chamber would notice her mole-like entrance, but she wanted to be prepared for whatever she was to face.
The Great Hall was dark and hollowly empty. She scanned the arcaded parapet. If she had seen someone up there—and she was still convinced she had—they were gone now. She shivered. She had rushed off without a jacket and now, as night drew on, a chill rose. Should she go back? Find the others and bring them up?
Then she heard it again, the sussurrant sound that was more a disturbing of the air than an actual noise. This time followed by the tinkle of a small bell. The breeze stirred. Was that a waft of incense? Whatever it was, it was coming from the chapel beyond the far end of the hall. And surely there was a flickering aureole of light in the empty space where there would once have been a ceiling.
Hugging the outer wall to keep in the blackest of the shadows, she slipped toward the stairway she remembered from that day, which seemed so long ago now, when she and Antony had explored the building in the sunlight and presence of other innocent tourists: the stairway that led to a tiny chamber looking down on the dais where the bishop would have entertained his most honored guests.
She paused at the top, looking down now into the vast emptiness, remembering seeing Rhys Morgan escorting a group of visitors through here, and then into the chapel. Now she wondered, had that been a simple tour promoting his restoration project, or had he been planning something more sinister?
Here the wall above the room was intact with the parapet walk open on the outside of the building. That meant Felicity could walk with little fear of detection. But at the end of the Great Chamber the arcaded parapet ceased. The way now was not a grand walk, but instead a narrow outer ledge leading to the Great Chapel. Felicity hugged the rough wall and inched forward, feeling every step carefully with her foot. And now, as she drew closer, there was no doubt. The sounds, lights and scents were issuing from the Great Chapel.
The arcaded parapet began again above the chapel, giving Felicity a firmer foothold and vantage point. She dropped to her hands and knees and crept forward until she could stick her head through the first of the arches. A soft sigh broke from her lips. It was beautiful. She didn’t know what she had expected, but certainly nothing so lovely. So—orthodox.
What a wo
nderful idea! Surely this was Rhys Morgan’s doing. It wasn’t sinister after all. Nothing could be a more powerful argument in favor of his restoration project. A reenactment of a high mass just as Bishop Henry Gower must have celebrated it here for select guests almost four hundred years ago. The altar stood, as it would have in Gower’s day, below a three-light window which her imagination could easily fill with radiant stained glass in the soft glow of dancing candlelight. Golden statues filled the niches flanking the windows, and candles burned on the altar and flickered from the darkest corners of the room, shedding just enough light to make the enormous, newly installed altar glow; it was covered with a rich white and gold frontal. The altar cloth was one of the most beautiful Felicity had ever seen. Antony would love this. She should go back and find him.
Before she could move, though, a white-robed acolyte entered carrying a large circular pan of glowing charcoal, and placed it on a stand to the right of the altar. When it was in place the server sprinkled a few grains of incense on the coals, bowed slightly and withdrew. The glowing charcoal from the incense burner lit the altar cloth from a new angle, and Felicity looked again.
She drew back so sharply she hit her head painfully on the stone arch. The scene was not at all what she had at first taken it to be. The intricate design on the frontal, worked in such rich golden thread, was not the traditional symbol she had assumed it was at first glance, but rather the double triangle with writhing snakes that symbolized the Orbis Astri.
Now she scrutinized the scene more carefully. Her gaze fell on the piscina in the wall just beyond the incense burner. She recalled Rhys Morgan pointing out this ornate liturgical fitting which the celebrant would have used to wash the communion vessels at mass as the “jewel of the room.” And what was that it now held? Felicity squinted at the small, elegant alcove lit with a single votive candle. A packet of something partially encased in what appeared to be a crumbling leather pouch, perhaps ten inches long and five inches wide, leaned against the purple sandstone blocks backing the piscina.
She knew without doubt that this was what she had seen in the hands of the Imperator at the ceremony in the cave. And she was certain it would fit perfectly in the scrynne. The object Bishop Gower thought valuable enough to build a special cache for in his palace. What part was it meant to play in this night’s proceedings?
“I’ve read of this, but never seen such a thing.” Antony’s voice, close to her ear, surprised Felicity so she almost cried out.
“Antony!” She groped in the dark for his hand, found it, and held on so tight she thought she might never let go again. “Oh, I’m so glad you found me. This,” she gestured to the scene below them. “This is—chilling. Whatever it is.”
“It’s called a service of sacralization or destitution—turning something important to Christianity, or to any other religion, into a sacred symbol consecrated to Satan. I think it’s a rather common practice in occult circles.”
“But why? What do they hope to gain by it?”
“Power. What we would call a means of grace.”
Felicity shuddered. “So it’s turning everything on its head.”
“Exactly.”
“Should we ring the police?” Felicity’s hand went to her pocket; then she remembered that, as usual, she didn’t have her mobile with her.
She more felt than saw Antony shake his head. “I’m not certain what they’re doing is actually illegal. Except maybe breaking and entering—and it’s possible they got permission. Under false pretenses, of course.”
“Can you ring the bishop?” Felicity startled at Ryan’s voice coming from behind Antony. She hadn’t realized he was there.
Antony handed Ryan his mobile with Bishop Harry’s number in it, and Ryan faded further back into the shadows. Felicity and Antony leaned forward for a better view as the sound of chanting and chime of handbells grew louder. The procession, which had apparently been forming on the lawn outside the chapel wound its way up the outside stairs at the back and moved toward the altar at a stately pace. Leading them, the white-robed, hooded, “crucifer” carried a long pole topped by the Orbis Astri insignia. Next, two acolytes bearing processional torches. The figure following them broke from the line as they neared the altar, drew the pouch from the piscina and continued the procession, holding the artifact aloft as a server in the cathedral would have carried the Gospel book.
Felicity turned back to Antony. “I think that’s what was in the Scrynne.”
Antony nodded. “Seems likely. I’d like to get my hands on it.”
The votaries now entered in pairs, hands folded, hoods covering their bowed heads. It was impossible to tell anything about them—age or gender. Certainly not identity.
Felicity was getting a leg cramp, crouched there on the cold stones. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, then froze at the sight of the final entrants.
At the very back walked the Serene Imperator, a golden headdress with the familiar triangles and double-headed snake over his hood. But the thing that riveted Felicity’s attention was the two robed figures walking in front of him. Instead of the gifts of bread and wine they might be carrying in a Eucharistic procession, they bore the limp form of a boy on a stretcher between them.
“Adam!” It took all the control Felicity could muster not to shout his name. Instead she gripped Antony’s arm hard with both hands. “He isn’t dead is he?”
“About to be, I’d say. The sacrificial lamb. It’s the convergence—summer solstice with the Feast of Corpus Christi. They believe a black mass with a special sacrifice will bring the Orbis Astri great power.”
“We have to stop them!” Felicity prepared to spring to her feet.
Antony grabbed her arm. “Indeed we do. But there are too many of them.” He turned back to Ryan. “Is the bishop on his way?”
“He’s in a service in the cathedral. I told his chaplain to come as soon as they could—with help.” As he spoke, the cathedral bells rang, indicating the service had begun. Apparently the black mass had been timed to synchronize with the cathedral’s mass of Corpus Christi. “But I’m afraid he may be too late.”
“Ring 999. We’ve got a crime now.”
“We need a diversion.” Felicity said, looking around for loose stones or something they could throw. As she did, she saw dark figures running across the field toward the palace. Were the police here already? “Look!” She pointed. “We’d better go tell them what’s happening.”
By the time the three of them had descended the stairs as quickly as they could, not bothering too much about quiet as the chanting in the chapel was steadily rising in pitch, the dark figures materialized into recognizable forms.
Jared reached them first, Evie and Kaylyn right behind him. “Jared, I told you to—” Antony stopped at sight of Nancy. “You’re supposed to be praying.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I am. But I left the Sisters to it at St Non’s.”
“We thought you might need some help,” Jared said.
“Well, as a matter of fact…” Felicity began.
Antony filled the newcomers in succinctly as they ascended the stairs from the undercroft, and made their way toward the chapel, this time simply walking straight across the hall as the intensity of the ritual in the next room covered any sound they might make.
Leaving the others, Felicity slipped along the small passage leading into the chapel and, keeping to the shadows, observed the circle of figures rapt in their mesmerizing dance around the Serene Imperator. Adam, who now lay on the altar, was the only one in the room not caught up in the dance. Felicity sighed with relief when she saw him move his head. At least he was still alive. For the moment.
Back in the hall, Felicity was the first to speak. “It would take quite a diversion to distract them. They’re spellbound by what they’re doing.” As she said it she realized that was the answer.
“Kaylyn, your white dress. Change clothes with me.”
“What?” Antony’s cr
y was more of a protest than a question.
“Don’t you see? I’ll look like one of them in white. Evie, let me use your sweater for a hood. It’s only a few feet around to the altar. I can match their dance step— no problem. I can be to Adam in ten steps.”
“No way.” Antony reached out to grab her, but she stepped aside.
Kaylyn handed her the flowing white dress. “Don’t put the belt on— it’ll look more like a robe.”
“Felicity, don’t!” The anguish in Antony’s voice was almost enough to make her stop. But not quite.
By the time she reached the door the words of the chant became distinct:
… Circle round, compass, wheel and wreath, we become as one…
She peeked into the chapel, vibrant with the warmth of dancing, singing bodies. It seemed even the candles flared brighter. She could have wished for deeper shadows.
She took one swift glance back at Antony and was glad to see he was praying. With a final gulp of air, she stepped into the room, the motion of her body matching that of the circling dancers. Unfortunately, the worshipers were circling clockwise and the altar lay to their right. Felicity hoped that if she swayed and shuffled sufficiently it wouldn’t be obvious that they were moving in a different direction. It was only a few steps but, fully exposed as she was and moving at a snail’s pace, it seemed like miles.
… at magick’s hour we call the winds and timeless powers…
Felicity was so lightheaded by the time she reached the altar she likely would have fallen even if she hadn’t planned to sink down. Leaning against the altar she breathed a sigh of relief and realized she had been holding her breath.
She shot a quick prayer upward and turned to her task. Fortunately, they had relied on the drugs to keep Adam still and hadn’t bothered tying him. “Adam, can you hear me? Can you move?”
A soft moan and a movement in the form above them served as reply.
“Try to roll off. I’ll catch you.” She held her hands at the edge of the altar. “That’s good. Just a few more inches. I’ve got you.” She put her hand on Adam’s leg to guide him.
An Unholy Communion Page 33
