Black Cathedral (department 18)

by L. H. Maynard

  It felt as if the wall was sucking him into it, while at his feet the floor was spinning out of control.

  Carter’s fingers locked onto McKinley’s and with a fierce pulling motion McKinley peeled Carter away from the wall; he carried on pulling and the swirls of mist began to melt away. Carter forced his other arm onto McKinley’s and with a final effort both men were out of the house and lying on the grass with the others.

  They all watched in silence as the house imploded. It fell in on itself with the roof wavering with indecision before collapsing inside the walls. Then the walls, already moving as if reeds blowing in the wind, fell forwards in a tired and slow fall from grace. Dust and debris heaved up into the air, mimicking the mist that had threatened Carter.

  ‘That’s that then,’ Bayliss said.

  Carter shook his head. ‘Far from it. That’s just the beginning.’

  ‘But the Manse is the center of deMarco’s world. Now it’s gone,’ Bayliss said.

  ‘The house was the center but it’s not the entrance. That’s somewhere else.’

  They sat on the grass as the dusk slowly surrounded them, shimmering with shadows.

  Kirby plucked blades of grass and split them with her fingernails. She was thinking about Jane Talbot. What she had done, and where she might have gone. Would they see her again? Jane was the only person she had been able to talk to, really open up to about her feelings. The things she had shared with her about Malcolm and the baby had been locked inside her for so long that it had been a welcome release to let it all out.

  Bayliss realized he had been terrified during most of the preceding hours. For all the research he had done, for all the knowledge he thought he possessed, nothing had prepared him for the reality once the horrors had begun. All the stories his grandfather had told him came flooding back, washing over him like exhaustion. The truth was that up until a few hours ago Kulsay had been something of a myth to him. A fairy story conjured in his imagination from old tales and whispered recollections. Now that reality had been tasted the sourness of what he’d seen was far worse than what he had learned.

  Carter stood. ‘I know where the entrance is,’ he said. ‘Where we have to go to finish this.’

  McKinley turned round on the grass so that he was facing him. ‘I’m ready. Where are we going?’

  ‘The abandoned church,’ Carter said. ‘It’s about fifteen minutes from here.’

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ‘Hang on,’ Bayliss said. ‘Finish it? Who says we want to do anything other than get the hell out of here?’

  Kirby was brushing the grass from her jeans. ‘We’re here to do a job, Nick, we need to find those people.’

  Carter lit a cigarette, the flame from the lighter emphasizing how dark the evening had become. ‘Kirby’s right, but it’s more than that now, surely you must know that?’

  There were some dull thumps as the final death throes of the Manse played out behind them. The grass beneath their feet felt cool and fresh after the heat from the house. A full moon gave some light but ahead of them the woods were black and filled with trees waving like masts of sailing boats at harbor.

  Bayliss had a worried look on his face. ‘You talk about “an entrance.” An entrance to what?’

  ‘ To wherever deMarco is; to wherever he’s keeping Sian…and…God knows who else.’ Carter couldn’t bring himself to say her name, just in case Jane was lost to him forever.

  ‘I’ve lived and breathed deMarco for as long as I can remember,’ Bayliss said. ‘When my grandfather wasn’t filling my head with fanciful stories about Satanists and devil worship on Scottish islands, I was filling in the gaps from reading and surfing the Net. Remember those poor kids that got taken into care a few years ago because an overzealous social worker had found out a surefire way to check for sexual abuse? A whole community on the islands was forced to lose their children into care for years. Some of them still haven’t been returned even when the woman was shown to be wrong, so wrong.

  ‘I thought I was waiting for my chance to ride onto Kulsay on my white horse and save the day. Only it’s night, not day, I haven’t ridden a horse in over twenty years, and I’m scared to investigate anymore. I’m frightened of what I’m going to find.’

  McKinley shifted his legs on the grass, where he was sprawled out as if at a leisurely picnic. ‘I used to be like you,’ he said.

  ‘What? White?’ Bayliss said.

  A shadowy smile that touched his eyes showed McKinley took no offense. ‘No, scared. I thought too much. Before any investigation, any possible haunting, I used to wonder, what if it gets me this time? What if it wants me and I’m not strong enough to stop it? Then I realized what the it was.’

  Bayliss looked at the night-black face and was impressed by the calmness contained in the features. Whether the control went further than skin deep he couldn’t tell but it was impressive to even appear relaxed under their circumstances. ‘Go on then; what was your it?’

  McKinley grunted, a kind of resigned acceptance. ‘My own limitations. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to handle what ever was thrown at me. I was limiting my actions by imagining boundaries. Once you realize you can take on anything, if you react in the right way nothing should be able to restrict you.’

  ‘I didn’t take you for the “positive thought conquers all” type.’

  McKinley shook his head. ‘It’s not that. It’s being open to all possibilities once you’re in a situation. Don’t let fear or convention put shackles on your ability to improvise and take effective action.’

  Bayliss let out a long drawn-out sigh. ‘Sounds fine, except for one thing.’

  Carter had been listening to what they were saying, and it was him who said, ‘What thing?’

  Bayliss stood and looked at the trees and their suffocating blackness. ‘You three have abilities to help you handle what we might come across; I don’t.’

  ‘Just use your sarcasm,’ Kirby smiled. ‘That’ll get them every time.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Carter only had a vague idea where the abandoned church was; so as they set out they took it slowly and carefully. After what they had experienced already they were wary of every step they took, fearful the ground might open up in front of them. Nervous the night might swallow them and they would join the legion of the lost.

  There was something else that scared Carter. Since Jane had gone he couldn’t concentrate. He had nearly paid the penalty for that inside the house. However hard he tried he couldn’t shake thoughts of Jane out of his head. It was as if she had lodged there like a physical entity, stopping him from thinking clearly. He tried to picture the church in his mind to pinpoint its location, and all he could see was Jane in her wedding dress running back down the aisle, away from the altar and the priest, running from her husband; returning to Carter. It wouldn’t happen now, and probably never would have.

  He edged his way through the bracken beneath the trees and in his imagination he was walking hand in hand with Jane through a wood of dappled sunlight, the branches letting the rays of the sun filter through softly, like sifting flour through a sieve. Her loss was a dull ache inside him and he realized that the years he had spent without her had been a huge mistake; a loss he would never be able to recover.

  ‘How much further do you think?’ Kirby asked, and her voice brought him back to the present, to reality. Jane had gone and he would never see her again. The others, the remaining three people relied on him. Sure, McKinley and Kirby had powers they could use, although Bayliss didn’t. But even with their combined skills Carter knew they were in for one hell of a battle.

  ‘Robert?’ Kirby prompted. She was behind him, with Bayliss behind her, and McKinley bringing up the rear.

  ‘We’ve gone east since the house, and we’ve been walking about fifteen minutes. By rights it should be just ahead.’ It was difficult to see clearly in the dark, although the moon was almost full and lent enough light to see the trees and the shadows around them.
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br />   ‘He’s right,’ Bayliss said. ‘I passed it on my way to the Manse, and I recognize these rocks.’ He pointed to a linear formation of granite rocks on the perimeter of a small clearing. ‘I think these were some early form of staging post. Marking the route from the crofters’ village to their place of worship.’

  Carter bent and examined the larger of the rocks. ‘These predate the crofters. These are more the kind of markers that lined the early indicators for the Leys.’

  McKinley looked behind, back through the trees. ‘I guess we thought the ley lines you were talking about centered on the house, seeing as that’s where deMarco spent his time. What if we were wrong? The ley lines converge on the church?’

  Standing and stretching, Carter said, ‘Many churches are built on ancient sites of worship. Most can be traced back beyond even their earliest apparent architecture. In England, don’t forget, those are Protestant places of worship. The Catholic churches are much more modern affairs, and they get built wherever local council planning permission can be granted.’

  ‘So the ley lines are nothing to do with it?’ Kirby said.

  Carter shook his head. ‘On the contrary; the ley lines are how the Jesuits travel from Rome to wherever they’re needed.’

  Bayliss sat on one of the rocks. He looked tired. ‘Physically travel along them you mean?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Carter said. ‘I’ve traced them over Britain, through Europe, even across the Atlantic.’

  McKinley whistled softly. ‘The U.S.?’

  Carter nodded. ‘Probably further afield than that; Asia, China…I didn’t have the time to research it for long enough.’

  ‘And the church here on Kulsay is a key point of the ley lines that converge from Rome…and where else? Much as I’d love to believe my precious island is the cornerstone of all that defines evil…’ Bayliss said. He was fighting for more energy, a second wind so he could keep up with the others.

  Kirby smiled at him. Despite her better judgment she liked the sarcastic Scot.

  ‘Believe it, Bayliss,’ Carter said. ‘What we’re going up against is going to make everything you’ve found out about your island seem like a stroll in the park.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  A few minutes after they left the clearing, a few minutes more walking through the trees in the dark, the contours of the ground changed and rough scree replaced the spare grass and coarse thistle. The land dipped away before lifting in an embankment that rose up like the gentle swell of a wave at sea.

  Here lay the ruined walls of the old church. Dull green ivy crawled over the damaged walls, righteousness reclaiming its devotion. Pale blue heather dotted the doorway as if it were confetti after a wedding, although it had been a long time since this place had witnessed happiness. An air of sadness hung over the whole area, a desolation that might be annotated on a Victorian mezzotint of the scene with the inscription: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.

  ‘Can you hear it?’ McKinley said.

  Kirby shook her head. ‘I can’t hear a thing.’

  ‘Exactly. For the past half hour or so we’ve heard an owl, loads of shuffling about in the undergrowth that Carter here told us was foxes, and badgers, and God knows what British wildlife. We heard our own footsteps on the brush, snapping twigs, pushing back branches. Now we can’t even hear our own breathing.’ Bayliss stamped his foot on a thistle. It slumped beneath his boot but there was no sound. They all listened and realized McKinley was right; the night sounds had stopped outside the perimeter of the church. It was as if the night was holding its breath, paying its fearful respects.

  Carter walked across to the door of the church. It leaned drunkenly against the remains of the side wall, the heavy oak weathered but solid. He paced around the outside wall, peering in as best he could through the stained-glass window. Back at the door he moved a few paces inside.

  ‘Careful, Robert,’ McKinley warned.

  The inside of the church was damp and dreary. The few remaining pews were upended, a couple of mildewed hymnbooks strewn across the flagstoned floor. Mould crept up one wall, while what seemed to be a colony of bats made a black smudge in one corner of the half-collapsed roof. The altar was smashed; pieces of stone laid about like broken teeth. A large bronze cross was upside-down in the center of the altar, embedded in the stone as if it was Arthur’s sword.

  At the far end of the nave was what seemed to be a faint light.

  Carter pointed. ‘That’s where we go in.’

  Bayliss stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the doorway. ‘Surely it’ll just lead to a vestry? A room where the minister would have put on his sacraments, and kept his records.’

  ‘That was the original purpose, but since the church was abandoned it’s become the entrance.’

  Bayliss took a step backwards. ‘Entrance to what?’

  Carter called the others forwards. ‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  An odor of dead things wafted through the gray air, seeping into their clothes, making their eyes water.

  There was only faded light coming from the far end of the church, behind the ruined altar. The rest of the interior of the ancient building was cloaked in darkness, from the night and from the memories of past deeds. Spirits of evil danced around them, unseen, touching their faces like a soft summer breeze, but tainting and taunting them, mocking their readiness for what lay beneath the ground.

  Carter led them. He had confined his thoughts of Jane to a locked compartment in his brain, sure it would be opened, and stay open, when this was over, but determined to focus all his powers on fighting the good fight.

  He had risked probing with his mind, sending his psychic swords into the opening behind the light. There had been fierce energy, flashing and fizzing without restraint, but ill defined, just a mass of uncoordinated movement.

  Together, as a group, they reached the back of the church and entered the small damp room that used to serve the various clergy as a changing and store room. Dusty shelves against the walls were empty now of everything apart from mouse droppings. The floor was strewn with leaves and mould, the combination making it slippery underfoot.

  In here it was apparent where the source of the light was coming from. The end wall had a fissure in it several feet wide; it was only still standing because it leant drunkenly on the sturdy side walls. Through the break in the wall there shined a bright white light that seemed artificial in its intensity.

  ‘Where the hell is the light coming from?’ Bayliss asked.

  ‘Hell might be right,’ McKinley said.

  Carter placed his hand on one edge of the cracked wall. It felt cold to the touch, like a long-buried corpse. The light was intense but it wasn’t blinding, and he was able to see beyond it. He could see rough sides of what looked like a long stone tunnel that sloped downwards so that he could only see the first few yards before darkness took over.

  ‘There’s a tunnel,’ he said.

  ‘Do we have to go down it?’ Kirby said, and the tone of her voice gave its own response.

  There was a sound like knuckles crunching and the front door of the church fell off its hinges and crashed to the ground.

  ‘There’s your answer, if you needed one,’ Carter said.

  The remainder of the portion of the roof over the main body of the church dropped to the floor and gray dust billowed upwards like empty shrouds tossed in the air.

  Carter looked at McKinley and the big American nodded.

  McKinley lightly took hold of Bayliss’s shoulder and Carter gently folded his arm around Kirby’s waist. As a group, shoulder to shoulder, they stepped through the gap in the wall and entered the light.

  The white light swallowed them as if they had stepped into the belly of a whale. The tunnel sides dripped with moisture, but it was warm inside. Under their feet the floor was uneven but dry, the stone worn and smooth.

  Behind them they could hear masonry crumbling as the remains of the c
hurch tumbled like so many old building bricks abandoned by a child, the purpose of them forgotten and insignificant.

  The deeper they moved into the tunnel the less bright seemed the light. The tunnel began to meander in all directions, snakelike, but constantly it took them downwards. In places it widened so they could stand in pairs, but for the most part they had to move along in single file. They were all wrapped up in their own thoughts, occasionally noticing the strange chiseled marks on the stone walls that probably meant something if they had had the ability to interpret them.

  It was getting colder and their breath started to mist in front of them. The floor became more uneven, the ridges in the stone higher and more likely to catch a careless step. Water dripped from tiny faults in the walls, the stone beneath it green with algae. Once or twice they came to a fork where it was almost uncertain which direction to take, but each time Carter moved them forwards, certain he knew the way. No one doubted him.

  ‘What will we do if the light fades completely?’ Kirby said, but no one wanted to reply. They were all too busy trying to stay calm, trying to keep fear at bay.

  And then the tunnel came to an abrupt end in the shape of a brass-hinged oaken door.

  Then the light went out and it was totally dark.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Carter took control.

  Darkness wrapped itself around them, an ardent lover, whispering and caressing, stroking and claiming.

  ‘Everyone hold hands,’ Carter said calmly.

  Behind them, back in the entrance to the tunnel, clawed feet could be heard crackling over the stone floor.

  Do it.

  McKinley spoke the words directly into Carter’s mind.

  Strange high-pitched sounds were filling the tunnel, pursuing; Carter opened his mind.

  Drawing on the others, especially Kirby and McKinley, he sent rhythmic pulses scattering down the tunnel, drawing on the strength of each of them, pulling out from them what he needed. The pulses met dozens of small masses of resistance.