Darkest hour aom-2

by Mark Chadbourn

  But it was Marshall who carried on: "The Knights Templar were the warrior priests of Christianity, established to protect pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land. Experts at fighting, but also intellectually superior. As well as armourers and knights, their number contained cartographers, navigators, doctors and learned clerics. But the Church became jealous of their growing power and turned on them in 1307. They were accused of taking part in blasphemous rituals-"

  "That sounds interesting." Laura's smile was a challenge Marshall chose to ignore.

  "The penalty for helping them was excommunication. That is an example of how seriously the Church attempted to eradicate them. It is rumoured that an entire fleet of Templars fled to Scotland, where they went into hiding. There is a village near here called Temple which owes its name to their presence."

  "There was much more to it than that, though, was there not?" Shavi said.

  Marshall nodded. "It was rumoured the Templars had learned great secret knowledge in the Holy Land which terrified the Church, which threatened belief in the entire religion. And they were supposed to have brought that knowledge back here to Rosslyn and secreted it somewhere within the chapel." He paused. "And some even say what they brought back was the preserved head of Jesus Christ himself."

  "Oh, gross!" Laura made a face.

  "And the Templars were linked to the Rosicrucians and the Masons. And the St. Clair family had close links with the Masons," Shavi noted.

  "This is all rumour and hearsay," Marshall stressed. "Writers have built an edifice of proof by linking disparate and fragmentary evidence."

  "We have learned there is truth in all legends, and the constant truth here is that the chapel hides something of great importance. I feel we have come to the right place," Shavi said.

  "Is there any way I can help?" Marshall asked excitedly.

  "Yeah, a coffee would be nice." Laura nodded towards the door.

  Marshall's brow furrowed for a moment, but if he felt her antagonism, he suppressed it. He nodded and slipped out.

  "You should not treat people so harshly," Shavi cautioned. "There is no malice in him."

  "The way I see it, anybody who stands up for the Church is some kind of hypocritical bastard, so that makes them fair game."

  She wandered away from him, not wishing to discuss it further. When he caught up with her she was staring at the stained-glass windows above the altar which depicted the Resurrection. The one on the left showed three women arriving at the sepulchre; in the right window two angels sat, one holding a scroll which read: "He is not here but is risen." She shivered.

  "It's true what he said about secret societies," she noted thoughtfully. "Not just the ones that you said, but the Watchmen, that freakish geek the Bone Inspector's people, all this shit going on behind the scenes. You can't get any thing straight any more. They teach you one history at school like that's all there is and then you find out there's a whole 'nother load of crap going on." She shook her head, the thoughts suddenly coming fast and furious. "You know, you can't even trust your eyes any more. Everybody sees the so-called gods differently, all those magical items we found-it's like nothing is real. So what can you believe in?" She turned to him. "How can you go on when you can't trust anything at face value? When you don't have any idea what's real or not? What's important or not?"

  He shrugged. "Faith."

  "In what?"

  "That is the question, is it not?" He slipped an arm around her shoulders and she rested against him briefly before pulling away.

  Marshall walked in with two steaming cups of coffee. "There's a little cafe section in the visitors' centre," he said. "But there's no fresh milk at the moment, unfortunately."

  Laura thanked him, a little curtly, but with no real sharpness.

  "Can you show us some of the things of interest?" Shavi asked the cleric.

  "Certainly." He took them over to the south door and pointed to the top of a pillar. "See there. A lion and what appears to be a unicorn. The lion's often linked to the Resurrection. The unicorn is symbolic of Christ. Yet the two are fighting. What do you think that means?"

  "I do not know," Shavi replied thoughtfully.

  "It seems like a warning," Laura noted. "Fighting, you know. Not a good thing. Christ fighting against the Resurrection."

  "That doesn't make any sense," Marshall said.

  He led them around to the north aisle and pointed out the burial stone of William St. Clair, which contained both a Templar insignia and the carved outline of the Grail; Laura glanced at Shavi, but he gave no sign that it was important. Two more dragons; an angel with a scroll. "There are carved images of open books everywhere," Marshall explained. "One line of thought is this is supposed to refer to the Book of Revelation and the Day of Judgment. I could see the dead, great and small, standing before the throne: and books were opened."

  "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 r
ead 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.

  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 u
p 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.