“So, you have an ambiguous reference to the Resurrection and constant reference to the Apocalypse.”
“Christians of that time were obsessed with these issues,” Marshall said.
Laura snorted. “They still are.”
“Up here.” Shavi pointed to a carving of angels rolling away the stone from Christ’s tomb. And on the pillar to the right, three figures, one without a head, observing the crucifixion scene.
“No one knows who the three figures are,” Marshall said. “Here’s one I’ve always admired.” He indicated sixteen figures dancing up and down a ribbed arch; next to each one was a skeleton. “It’s the danse macabre, the dance of death, showing death’s supremacy over mankind.”
“Hey, Happy Jack.” Laura wandered away, wishing she was with Church, the two of them on some beach miles away from everyone else. Suddenly she felt a cold flood wash over her, pinpricks dancing up and down her spine. It was as if her subconscious had seen something she wasn’t aware of, something exciting, stimulating or important. She looked around, saw nothing. Then, slowly she raised her head and there it was; but there was no way she could even have glimpsed it.
Looking down at her was the biggest, finest example of the Green Man she had yet seen in the chapel. Branches protruded from his mouth like tusks, curling back in an abundance of leaves across his head. The face was darkly grinning, the eyes black slits beneath plunging eyebrows. She couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be evil, mischievous or threatening.
Something about the eyes, she thought. Almost as if it were looking directly at her, communicating with her.
“Y’know, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she called out. But Shavi and Marshall were immersed in examining two unusual pillars. The doubts suddenly began ringing through her. The carvings all seemed to suggest something bad, some warning not to disturb what had been sealed there. To release it could bring about the Apocalypse, that was the message, wasn’t it? she thought. Why couldn’t Shavi and Marshall see it? It seemed so obvious to her. But maybe she was just being stupid. They were both smarter than her, more perceptive. She glanced back up at the face of the Green Man and shivered once more.
“Explain to me about the two pillars,” Shavi was saying as she approached. The one on the left stood tall and straight, with intricate carvings rising in tiers from the base. But the one on the right was even more elaborate and sophisticated in its design. Instead of rising in straight lines, the detailed carvings twisted around the column in what must have been a display of the prowess of a master mason.
Yet Marshall indicated differently. “The one on the left is called the Mason’s Pillar, the one on the right the Apprentice Pillar. There’s a story that goes along with them: in the absence of the Master Mason, his apprentice set about working on the pillar, creating this perfect marvel of workmanship. On the Master Mason’s return, instead of being delighted at the success of his pupil, he was so overcome with envy he flew into a rage and killed the apprentice with one blow of his mallet. And of course he paid the penalty for his actions.”
“The sacrifice of something good. An act of betrayal sealed in blood,” Shavi said. He ran his fingers through his long hair as he tried to read more meaning in the story.
But Laura’s attention was drawn by the dragons and vines wrapped around the base of the Apprentice Pillar, binding it with the symbols of the Green and the Earth Spirit. Now her doubts were starting to make her feel queasy.
“This is where we need to look.” Shavi indicated the Apprentice Pillar.
“Are you sure?” Marshall said. “People have pondered over the meaning of this place for centuries. You’ve drawn your conclusions rather quickly, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Perhaps. I am simply making an intuitive leap. But here is my reasoning: this pillar cries out that it is unique in its very design-twisted, while all the other pillars remain straight and true. It even has its own legend, which sets it apart as something formed under special circumstances. And myths and legends, as a friend of mine repeats incessantly, are the secret history of the land.”
“Then what do you suggest? Digging beneath it?” Marshall looked uneasy at this act both of sacrilege and the destruction of an ancient monument.
Shavi nodded. Laura and Marshall both winced for different reasons.
“This floor is stone. The pillar … Lord! You might bring the whole roof down! As if we haven’t had enough structural problems with this place over the last few years.”
“Nevertheless. Our need is great. We must find a way.”
“And I have no power here,” Marshall continued. “I am, I suppose, at best tolerated. Someone will try to stop you. The police will be here in minutes.”
Laura glanced at her watch. “The place doesn’t open till ten. We’ve got hours yet.”
Shavi looked beyond the Apprentice Pillar to a flight of stairs leading down into the gloom. “Where does that lead?”
“The sacristy. It’s believed to be even older than the chapel,” Marshall said.
“So the chapel was built around it,” Shavi mused.
“It’s not so important. I mean, it’s completely bare of ornament, unlike this place. It’s just a rough rectangle of stone some thirty-six feet long. Records say there are three Princes of Orkney and nine Barons of Rosslyn buried down there.”
Shavi went to the top of the stairs and peered down. “Buried where, exactly?”
“Why, no one knows exactly.” Marshall gestured as if it was such an unimportant fact it was barely worth discussing.
Shavi rested his cheek against the cold stone of the door frame and weighed the place and dimensions of the room below before glancing back at the Apprentice Pillar. “So,” he began with a faint smile, “the burial chamber could be a walled-off extension from the back of the sacristy.”
“Possibly.”
“Which would put it somewhere beneath the Apprentice Pillar.”
Marshall thought about this for a moment, then nodded fulsomely. “You could be right. And of course that would make it a little more accessible from the sacristy.”
“Well, I wish we could hang around to hear you explain the big pile of rubble and the hole in the wall,” Laura said snidely.
“There are tools available. Near the graveyard there’s a store for those who’ve been working on the repair of the building,” Marshall said. He slipped out and returned soon after with two pick-axes and a shovel.
Cautiously Marshall led the way down the treacherously worn steps into the dank, bare sacristy. Shavi followed while Laura took up the rear with a feeling of growing apprehension. “Are you sure about this?” she hissed to Shavi once Marshall was far enough ahead to be out of earshot.
°I am not sure about anything. All I know is we have no alternative. We do not have the power to oppose the Fomorii directly, certainly none that could deflect the Blue Hag.”
“Yeah. You’re right, I suppose. I just have a feeling this is going to be a frying pan/fire scenario.”
Shavi searched her face. She was surprised to see he was taking her views seriously. “Would you like to turn back?” he asked genuinely.
That surprised her even more. “Let’s see how we go. We can always pull out if things get too hairy.”
They identified the spot on the sacristy wall that corresponded with where Shavi guessed the burial chamber lay. The wall was old stone, sturdy enough, but the cement between the blocks was ancient and would crumble easily. They stood in silence for a long moment, attempting to come to terms with what they were about to do. Then Shavi raised the pick-axe above his head and swung it at the wall.
The moment it struck an echo ran through the building that sounded like an unearthly moan filled with anguish. It was surely a bizarre effect of the chapel’s acoustics, they told themselves, but it had sounded so vocal it made them all grow cold. Shavi and Marshall glanced at each other, saying nothing. Laura backed a few paces away, wrapping her arms around her.
&nbs
p; Shavi swung the pick again. This time the moan seemed to be outside, all around the chapel, caught in the wind. It grew palpably darker in the already gloomy sacristy.
“There’s a storm coming,” Marshall noted, but it didn’t ease them. Almost at his words, the wind picked up and began to buffet the outside of the building.
The stone wasn’t as resilient as it had first appeared. Large chunks had fallen to the ground and the cement had all crumbled away; they would soon be able to remove an entire block and from then on the job would be relatively easy.
Shavi raised the pick for the third time.
A tremendous boom resounded through the main body of the chapel above them. They realised at the same time it was the sound of the chapel door being thrown open. Shavi threw down the pick and hurried up the steps with the others close behind.
Framed in the doorway was a man of indeterminate age, although Shavi guessed he must have been in his sixties. His greasy, grey-black hair was long and hung in an unkempt mess around his shoulders, framing a skull-like face that was sun-browned and weatherbeaten from an outdoor life. He was thin but wiry and exuded a deep strength that belied his age. Shavi would not have liked to have been on the receiving end of a blow from the six-foot, gnarled staff that the man clutched menacingly. At first sight Shavi guessed he was some kind of itinerant; his well-worn baggy trousers had long lost their original colour to become a dirty brown; he wore tired sandals and a dingy cheesecloth shirt open to the waist. But then Shavi noticed the warning issued by his dark, piercing eyes; the power within showed he was a man with a mission.
“I’ve come to stop you two doing something you probably won’t live to regret,” he said with a rural accent Shavi couldn’t place.
Laura tugged at Shavi’s arm. “Here’s a word of advice: stay out of the way of that staff.”
“You know him?”
“We met in Avebury before you came on board,” she said.
And then Shavi recognised him. “The Bone Inspector.” He smiled and held out his hand in greeting.
The Bone Inspector didn’t take his eyes off Shavi’s face.
“Who is he?” Marshall asked.
“The custodian of the land’s old places, the stone circles, the longbarrows and burial mounds. The last in a long line of wise men who kept the knowledge of nature’s ways.” Shavi tried to read him, sensed a threat, though he didn’t know why.
“Do you know what you’re doing here?” the Bone Inspector asked.
“Trying to save the world,” Laura said from the back. “You should try it some time.”
“I couldn’t believe it.” His voice was low, trembling with repressed emotion. “When I felt it in the land, like a shiver running through the soil, I came as quick as I could to stop you, you damn fools. I’ll ask you again: do you know what you’re doing?”
“We have been guided here to free the hidden power-“
The Bone Inspector snorted derisively. “Hidden power! Then you don’t have any idea what’s beneath your feet. Or why this place was built to keep it there.”
“Then tell us,” Shavi said firmly.
The Bone Inspector laughed contemptuously. “It’s beyond you, boy. It’s bigger and darker and more dangerous than you could ever imagine, and if you had any idea what it was, you wouldn’t even be within ten miles of this place. All of you, you’re like mice, getting into things you shouldn’t, causing trouble. I knew you weren’t up to the job.”
“We’re up to it,” Laura said adamantly, “so you can take your staff and shove it—
Shavi silenced her with a cut of his hand. “I mean to find what is here and take it with me. Everything turns on this. If we return without it, all is lost.”
The Bone Inspector’s face grew harder. “And I mean to stop you. I could sit quietly and explain why what you’re doing is a mistake of nightmarish proportions, or I could beat the shit out of you. Either way you’ll get the messageand I know which one will be more effective. So let’s see who’s up to the job, eh? Boy.” There was arrogance in his voice; he was not used to being opposed. He raised his staff aggressively and in a liquid movement rolled on to the balls of his feet, primed and ready to attack. Shavi could see he knew how to use the staff, there was something in the way he held his body which suggested the rigid discipline of the martial arts, although Shavi guessed the fighting style was uniquely British, and very ancient. “How do you plan to fight, then, boy?” the Bone Inspector asked.
Shavi stood calmly with his arms by his side. He registered no fear, no sense of urgency at all. He knew he would be no match physically for the Bone Inspector. Instead of tensing, he let his muscles relax, pushed his head back slightly and closed his eyes.
“You do that,” the Bone Inspector said. “Pretend I’m not here.”
Shavi had never tried it before, but the fact that his abilities were improving each day was unmistakable. It was difficult to attempt something untried in the crucible of conflict, but he was growing increasingly confident. He knew in his heart what he should be able to do. It was only a matter of seeing if he could.
At first nothing seemed to be happening. Then, gradually, the Bone Inspector’s sneering voice seemed to fade until it sounded as if it were coming from the depths of a long tunnel. At the same time Shavi’s vision skewed like it was being twisted through a kaleidoscope. Dimensions stretched like toffee, turned on an angle. Once the distortion took over, different, deeper senses took over. Time appeared to be running slowly. He could hear sounds, whispers, that had not been there before, although he had no idea who was talking; and he suddenly seemed to be able to see through the dense stone of the wall and out across the land for what appeared to be miles. In that dream-like state he was beyond himself, beyond the chapel; although he had touched on it with his experiments he had never achieved such clarity before. And then he was ready: he put out the call with a voice that was not a voice.
“Shavi! This is no time to zone out on me!” Laura shook his arm but he didn’t even seem to feel it.
“What’s going on?” Marshall said. Then, to the Bone Inspector, “Why are you threatening these people?”
The Bone Inspector grinned, his staff still levelled at Shavi’s throat. “Hold your voice, church-man. Your kind act like you know everything about everything when you know nothing about nothing. Don’t go sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“This is sanctified ground!” Marshall said irately. “I will not have fighting here!”
“No, but you’ll let these two take a pick-axe and shovel to the place. Hypocrites, your kind, always have been.”
Laura was distracted from the confrontation by a movement outside the door: a shadow flitting against the background of clipped grass and mist. Another one, too quick to pin down the shape. There was something outside, several things, and they were drawing closer.
“Shavi?” she muttered.
“Playing dead won’t help, lad,” the Bone Inspector mocked. “You’ll have to learn your lesson soon enough.”
“What lesson’s that?” Laura’s eyes darted back to the door. Closer. “That sooner or later everyone turns into a bitter old git?”
The Bone Inspector’s grin soured. He opened his mouth to speak. And in that instant something flashed through the door and hit him, and then he was howling in pain. Everything moved so fast it took a few seconds for Laura to register what was happening. A large russet fox was scrabbling wildly at the Bone Inspector’s torso, its teeth sunk deeply into his forearm. Blood trickled down his brown skin. He flailed around with the staff, trying to thrash it off, but it was holding on too tight and the pain was throwing him off balance. Before he could toss away the staff and grapple it with his free hand, a large mongrel and a Great Dane still trailing its owner’s lead burst through the door and set about him with snapping jaws. Laura could tell they were not really trying to hurt him, but they kept him reeling and gave him enough nips to make his skin slick with blood and saliva. More shape
s were moving towards the chapel; she glimpsed another fox, a badger, bizarrely, several rabbits, all heading towards the Bone Inspector. In the whirlwind of fur and fang, snapping and snarling, he was driven backwards by sheer weight of numbers until he was on the threshold. Laura picked up his stick and ran forward to jab him with it so he went spinning out on to the grass.
“Quick!” Shavi gasped. “The doors!” He pitched forward, spraying spittle, his eyes rolling, and grabbed the back of a pew for support.
Laura and Marshall ran together and slammed the doors shut, then helped each other to drag pews in front of them. When they had finished it would have taken a bulldozer to plough the doors open.
And then, eerily, the crescendo of awful animal noises ended suddenly, to be replaced by the dim sound of paws padding quickly away. There was a choking moan, quickly stifled, as the Bone Inspector started to feel the full pain of his wounds.
Laura whirled. Shavi still clung to the pew, pale and weak. “You did that!” she said incredulously.
He nodded, tried to force a smile. “I never realised I had it in me.”
“Good Lord!” Marshall muttered. He slumped down on to a pew blankly.
Laura and Shavi hurried round and piled pews against the west and south doors too. “He’s going to find a way to get in as soon as he recovers,” she said.
Shavi nodded. “Then we better get moving.”
Back in the sacristy, Laura felt cold, queasy, barely able to continue. Shavi, though, seemed oblivious to the growing anxiety which hung over the chapel like a suffocating fog. He swung the pick-axe at the wall with force; the reverberations exploded to the very foundations. Up in the choir Marshall still sat in a daze, staring at the floor, his arms hugged tightly round him. And at the door the Bone Inspector hammered and hollered, his voice growing increasingly fractured. It was a terrible sound, filled with a growing sense of fear. Laura covered her ears, but even that couldn’t block it out.
“What’s in there, Shavi?” she asked, but he didn’t seem to hear. His face was fixed, almost transcendent.
Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) Page 24
