‘The large numbers of the conversos, and especially their wealth and influence naturally aroused the envy and even the hatred of the Spanish Catholic population. The New Christians, those who actually converted, were hated the most, but all the Marranos were persecuted. In the fifteenth and sixteenth century there were many attacks and riots because of religious bigotry.’
Carter paused while Kirby and McKinley made some fresh coffee and sandwiches.
‘Smoke?’ Carter offered Bayliss while they waited for the others.
Bayliss shook his head. ‘One of the few vices I’ve managed to avoid.’
‘You see where I’m headed with this?’ Carter said, drawing the smoke deeply and dangerously.
‘You can’t have positive proof. Most of your conclusions will be supposition at best.’
Another cigarette was lit from the end of the first. ‘Partly, but don’t underestimate my powers. They’ve let me research this in ways you won’t have been able to. You’ve done well; what you told us confirmed most of what I’ve found out.’
McKinley and Kirby came back in with two trays, one of coffee and one of ham and cheese sandwiches.
‘Cigarette out please, Robert,’ Kirby said as she brought over a mug of coffee and plate of food. She smiled at him as he took them from her.
When they were settled again, and Carter had devoured half his sandwich, he began talking.
‘In Spain the Jews were gradually placed in ghettos and ended up living apart from the Marranos. The two communities continued to communicate, with the unconverted Jews trying to keep the conversos faithful to Judaism.
‘Constantly persecuted during the Inquisition, most conversos tried desperately to leave the country. This wasn’t easy, although many fled to Italy, ironically the country that houses the Pope. Fanatical Popes imprisoned the conversos; those who didn’t convert were burned in public executions.
‘In Spain a certain group of Marranos began to embellish their Judaism. Living in houses of secrets they looked for outlets beyond their Jewish faith. Practicing in secret meetings they began to adopt the ancient and mysterious ways of Kabbalah.
‘Kabbalah is considered to be the world’s oldest set of spiritual wisdoms. Believers say it contains the long hidden keys to the secrets of the universe as well as the ways to unlock the mysteries of the human heart and soul. Kabbalah details how to navigate the whole world, physical and metaphysical, to stave off every form of chaos, pain and suffering. It teaches that every human being is born with the capacity of greatness and that Kabbalah is the way to activate that greatness.
‘Kabbalah is meant to be used every day; remember how that links to the Jewish ideal. Kabbalah has as its purpose to bring clarity to the world, make people free to live to their full potential and ultimately to erase even death itself.’
Carter finished his coffee, lit another cigarette, and looked at each of them in turn. ‘DeMarco was a Marrano. He took the path to Kabbalah but he twisted it out of all recognition. Bitter at the persecution he saw against his family he pursued the path towards erasure of death, and…’
‘And succeeded,’ Bayliss said, with a kind of awe.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
‘Kabbalah literally means receiving and what it does is interpret the Hebrew Bible or Tanakh, as well as classical Jewish texts such as halakha and aggadah, and various practices or mitzvot. By doing that it tries to be a doctrine by which people can live full and satisfying lives within God’s omnipotence.
‘The eighteenth century saw an explosion of Kabbalah, but by then deMarco was already well established and practicing his own brand of the faith. One of the aspects of Kabbalah is the belief that Jewish and non-Jewish souls are different. While all human souls emanate from God, non-Jewish or gentile souls originate from the left side of God and therefore all non-Jews have a dark or demonic side to them that is absent in Jews.
‘That probably started as defense against the persecution suffered over the centuries by Jews who were called the servants of Satan, and characterized as nonhumans. But at the time Kabbalah taught that Jews had additional layers of the soul that others did not. Obviously this interprets itself as sounding superior and they were perceived as arrogant.’
Kirby leaned forward, holding her hand up uncertainly as if a pupil in class. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Robert, but there are almost two hundred years between the Inquisition and the events on Kulsay between deMarco and The German.’
‘He’s saying deMarco went deep underground as a Marrano in the sixteenth century, twisted his Judaism into a version of Kabbalah, especially the escape from death bit, and then proved that Jews have a dark and demonic side as well,’ Bayliss said. ‘It’s fascinating stuff, Carter, I’ll give you that. You’ll expect me to poke fun at your theory but I’m going to disappoint you. Rather than what I told you earlier confirming what you already thought it’s the other way round. You’ve just given me a way that deMarco could achieve eternal life.’
‘I’m not your enemy, Bayliss,’ Carter said.
McKinley stood and walked across to the window. ‘So I’ve got this straight,’ he said. ‘DeMarco became bitter at the treatment his people received from the Catholics. He had to be a Jew in secret but that wasn’t enough for him; he found Kabbalah, only he used what he wanted from its teachings to escape death. He left Spain, eventually winding up in Scotland and Kulsay. Even there he was pursued by the forces of the Pope.’
‘So his hatred of Catholics was doubled,’ Kirby said.
Carter nodded. ‘When he disappeared after the battle with The German my guess is he didn’t die. I’d put money on him hiding underground, literally, using ley lines.’
Bayliss stood and crossed over to the bar. ‘Drink, anyone?’
Kirby went across to help him. ‘Okay, so if we believe deMarco is still alive somewhere, what’s he been waiting for?’
McKinley banged the glass of the window and everyone looked at him.
‘I went to see my wife after she died,’ he said. ‘They take you to the morgue and lead you through to a quiet room. It’s very cold, and smells of swimming pools and toilets. A green sheet covers the body, and the lights are very bright and the walls are very white. I could see blood dripping from the walls but it wasn’t really there. I just imagined it coming out of her and coating the walls. They ask you if you’re ready and you say you are, but you’ll never be ready, and then they pull back the top of the sheet and ask you if this is the person. And it was. Only when the man pulled the sheet back over her head I could see that there was someone else on the bed with her, a kind of shadow man. I shouted and tried to pull the sheet off again but of course they just thought I was hysterical and dragged me away. Then I saw him slip down from the trolley and smooth himself into a corner of the room. He was dressed in black and was very thin so no one else could see him, and he was pointing.
‘I looked where he was pointing, and there were other shadows. I’m sure the shadow I saw scurrying beneath a bed was just that, a shadow, but it seemed real. The lighting in the ward was dubious, and no one likes the atmosphere of hospitals. It’s always a bit disturbing even for the most levelheaded of people. But I was upset and everyone else was calm but very insistent. I was ushered away but not before I saw a black shape take up its position directly at the foot of my wife’s bed. Not before I saw the man shadow pull himself as close to the bed as he could. As the room fell into a hospital slumber the shadow at the foot of the bed sloped forward and covered my wife like an eiderdown, but one that soaked into her body until it disappeared and my dead wife swelled slightly from within.’
McKinley suddenly sat on a chair away from the others. With head bowed as if in prayer, he seemed shrunken.
Carter turned to Kirby and Bayliss. ‘John is telling me that he thinks I’m right.’
‘Come on then,’ Bayliss said. ‘Right about what?’
‘DeMarco has been recruiting people for one more battle. Dead people mainly, but if there weren’t enou
gh of those he takes them anyway. Like the management team from Waincraft. Like the crofters. Like Jane.’
Bayliss walked to the bar and poured himself another large whisky. ‘And deMarco is performing this recruitment drive here on Kulsay, is that it?’
Carter pointed to the floor. ‘Not on Kulsay; under it.’
Kirby coughed. ‘What I don’t understand, well there’s loads of it really, but if deMarco is Jewish, a convert or what ever, and his grievance is against the Catholic Church, why is he recruiting non-Jews, and even Catholics?’
Bayliss threw his glass to the floor where it smashed like childhood dreams. ‘Come on, deMarco!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Come on, Alphonse. Are you up for recruiting a shit like me? I’m a true challenge, a real non-believer. Can you…’
There was a sound like jelly being poured from a jug and McKinley called out, ‘Carter.’
Everyone turned to the window where McKinley was sitting; only he wasn’t seated comfortably. His feet had sunken into the ground almost up to his knees so that he was slumped forwards, half on and half off his chair.
Carter stood but before he could move across to him McKinley motioned him to stay where he was.
‘I tried to stop myself from sinking into the floor,’ McKinley said. ‘But it didn’t work. I had to use my ability to keep what ever it is at bay. You won’t be able to pull me out without using your psychic power.’
Kirby put her hand on Carter’s shoulder. ‘Which means opening yourself up, and making yourself vulnerable to attack.’
‘Come on,’ Bayliss said. ‘We can pull him out if we work together.’ He bustled over to McKinley, standing behind the chair, and grasped the large man’s shoulders. ‘Push back, John.’
‘No,’ Carter said. ‘You’ll break his concentration and we’ll lose him.’
Kirby took Bayliss by the arm and guided him away. ‘Leave Robert to deal with it.’
Carter closed his eyes. McKinley stared at him for a moment and then closed his. Kirby was certain she could feel an energy buzz in the room, like an electric generator humming a monotonous tune. McKinley began to move his head up and down like a mockery of nodding. Then his upper body joined in so that he was rocking forwards and backwards in the chair as if demented. Carter raised his arms in the air, spread them and then thrust them hard against his side.
McKinley rocked forwards so far that it looked as if he was going to fall on his face. Then he propelled back again, hit the chair hard, and his feet and legs reared up until they were over his head. The floor where he had been encased was rippling as if liquid. It looked like a crystal clear surface of water and Bayliss couldn’t take his eyes away from the figures and shapes he could see. The motion of McKinley’s body carried his legs over his shoulders and he fell backwards out of the chair.
His eyes opened at the same time as Carter’s.
‘Did you see them?’ Bayliss said. ‘Did you look into the…’
McKinley walked over to Carter and thrust out his hand. ‘I owe you.’
Carter shook his hand and then sat down. The forces that had been pulling on McKinley were powerful; not just physically, but their mental strength was strong.
A roar of cracking masonry ripped through the room like the cry of a wounded animal. The walls of the Manse began to buckle as if being squeezed, and slowly but certainly a hole began to form in the floor at their feet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The hole was perfectly symmetrical. Small at first; gradually it widened out, never deviating from its circular shape, never getting distorted. If the movement of it opening had been accompanied by music it would have been Mendelssohn’s Scottish Symphony, the lavish Fingal’s Cave.
McKinley placed an arm across Bayliss, indicating they should both move away from the lip of the hole. Carter took hold of Kirby’s arm and all four of them moved towards the door. The floor was all but gone now, and the hole opened almost as wide as the room. From within the hole they could see flames, though there was little heat; and there were screams.
‘It’s Dante’s Inferno,’ Bayliss said.
‘Only it’s deMarco, not Dante,’ Carter said, and as he spoke the outer wall of the room broke in two and pieces of the masonry fell into the opening. Great plumes of smoke and flame billowed up, eager tongues of fire.
‘The ceiling,’ McKinley shouted, and the whole of the ceiling began to collapse downwards.
They rushed out of the room and into the entrance hall. The staircase had fallen in on itself; the windows were shattered, great panes of glass hanging in cracked arrangements of irregular pattern. The marble floor tiles were popping up, one by one, as if pushed from beneath.
Carter turned to face the others. ‘We need to get out of here, and fast.’
‘What are we waiting for?’ Bayliss said and moved to run.
Carter held a hand to the man’s chest. ‘They’ll try to stop us.’
The front door crashed open, the force flinging the heavy oak hard against its hinges, pulling them from the wall.
Bayliss pointed. ‘That doesn’t look like we’re being prevented from leaving. That looks like an invitation to me.’ Then he heard a voice calling his name. ‘Did you hear that?’
Then his name again, ahead of him now, through the door, a faint hissing voice, terrifying in its malevolence.
‘Doesn’t sound like an invitation now, does it?’ Kirby said. The voice was angry and demanding.
Carter could see the trees and the garden to the front of the Manse, but it was in the distance, and the scene seemed blurred, out of focus, as if his eyes were covered in gauze.
Despite the dangers he knew they couldn’t stay in the house. At first he had thought the collapse was intended to kill them all. Now he realized it was merely designed to get them out into the open. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to risk it. We can’t stay here.’
He clapped Bayliss on the back, and lightly took hold of Kirby’s hand.
He ran on, as the sudden silence of the house overwhelmed him. There was no sound in the place at all, no screams from the opened floor in the bar, no loud rumblings as the walls crumbled. He was conscious of a slapping sound as his feet hit the floor, but even that sound was sucked away until all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.
Progress was painfully slow. Although he was conscious of running with all the speed his body could muster, the front door never seemed to get any nearer, and gradually he became aware that the floor under his feet was becoming soft. He seemed to be sinking into the tiles with each step he took. Almost as if he was running through sand, and at the edge of the sand was water, deep water waiting to claim him.
Voices began to clamor in his head. Let yourself go, Robert. Let your body sink into the floor. We’re waiting for you.
He looked around at the others and it was as if they were running in slow motion, fierce effort burned into their faces, but they didn’t seem to be moving.
The voices whispered in his ear again, joined this time by other voices, each calling his name, cursing him, vilifying him. Too exhausted to reply to them he ran on, wanting only to reach the outside.
The floor tiles confounded him. They were rippling and buckling, pitching and twisting, sucking at his feet, tripping him. His foot caught on the edge of a tile and he tumbled forwards, splinters of cracked marble embedding themselves in his palms as he stretched out his hands to break his fall. All around him the air was alive with whispers and cries, and gradually the visibility was diminishing.
He felt strong hands lifting him. ‘Come on, man,’ McKinley said. ‘We’re almost there.’
Carter looked back to the entrance of the bar, where the walls had gone and black flutters of what looked like burned paper floated in the air.
Kirby screamed. A pillar of mist was spinning towards them, thrusting forward along the walls as if for support. A gray swirling vortex coming at them with great speed, all the while hissing their names over and over again in
a whispered chant. It was as if there were thousands of voices caught up in a swirling dance, shouting and calling out in every language on earth.
As the vortex drew nearer Carter could see that it was far more solid than he had imagined. The mist wasn’t spreading across the entrance hall, as he’d expected, but was confined to its center, with a definite purpose about its course, which was directly towards him. The mist had a raw shape, which Carter realized was the shape of a man, though the edges were indistinct, with flailing arms and the appearance of a roughly defined mouth.
What the hell is that?
McKinley spoke the words directly into his thoughts, but his mind was so concentrated he couldn’t reply.
Bayliss and Kirby were out of the house. They flopped down on the grass, panting like greyhounds after a race. McKinley was at the door, waiting for Carter, who was a few feet behind. He turned and knew that the mist had him trapped, pushing him along the wall, forcing him into it; he was terrified to touch it or to let it engulf him. He felt the wall at his back, and looked down in horror at the floor. It was beginning to dissolve. Behind him the wall was starting to give way, embracing him, welcoming him inside.
‘Take my hand,’ McKinley shouted at him, struggling to be heard above the noise.
Carter reached out, and stretched his fingers towards McKinley’s.
Long flailing arms extended out from the mist, cracking forwards, clawing through the air at Carter.
McKinley had one hand on the frame of the door, the other pulling out towards Carter. The long black fingers were accentuated against the pale gray mist. Carter aimed his hand at them and felt the rough tips of McKinley’s fingers.
Black Cathedral (department 18) Page 24
