Darkest hour

Chapter Seven

In her deepest, darkest, most testing time, Ruth plumbed the depths of her character for reserves she never knew existed. Every hour seemed torturous, trapped in a minute world that encompassed only the claustrophobic confines of her cell, the ever-present darkness, the chill that left her bones aching to the marrow, the foul odours that occasionally drifted through from beyond the door. Part of her resilience, she knew, came from her ability to view her crucible of pain as a chrysalis. She would store up as much learning from her invisible companion as she could and when she emerged she would be wiser, more confident, stronger; no longer the weak-willed Ruth Gallagher who was living her life for the sake of other people. When she emerged.

She had grown numb to the regular periods of suffering inflicted on her by the Fomorii. Her body bore numerous wounds which would scar over into a mural of pain that would never leave her. The stump of her missing finger ached constantly and sometimes she almost imagined it was still there. But in a way the routine was almost comforting: the dull sounds of bodies moving towards her door, the insane shrieks and grunts growing louder, the feeling of nausea as the door was thrown open to reveal the almost unbearable visage of a Fomor. And then the long drag to the chamber where the instruments were kept, where the furnace burned in one corner, the atmosphere sticky and foul.

This time it was different. When the door burst open, the first face she saw was the corrupt beauty of the hybrid Fomorii priest Calatin, his expression contemptuous and cruel. He wore a filthy white shift top and leather breeches; his long hair was greasy and infested, a parody of a sophisticated aristocrat.

"Serith Urkolhn," he said in his guttural dialect as he nodded to Ruth. "I thought I had seen the last of you. You proved a minor irritation until your grand failure exposed how truly pathetic you were. An insult to the very essence of the Pendragon Spirit. Oh, how your world must have mourned and wailed and cursed your name into the cold void. In that most important hour, you proved yourself as insignificant as the rest of your kind-we needed waste no more time on you.

"But then there you were, delivered to our door, at a turning point in our plans." He chewed on a fingernail and giggled. "And a notion came to me of great irony. Oh, to strike a blow against the feeble order of nature! To throw up an abomination! To show our contempt for all existence!"

"Just get it over with," Ruth spat.

This time they dragged her to a different room. No furnace, no torture instruments; it was almost stately by Fomorii standards. Rough wood and stone, a tapestry hanging on the wall depicting scenes Ruth couldn't bring herself to examine, and, in the centre, a strange curved bench which appeared to be made of polished obsidian. Flickering torches cast a sickly, ruddy glare over the room.

Ruth was so weak she could barely stand. The Fomorii strapped her to the bench with harsh leather straps that bit into her flesh. Her head was spinning so much from her fragility she couldn't begin to understand what was happening. Instead she focused on the small joy that came from the knowledge there would be no torture that day.

Through watery eyes she watched Calatin pacing the room, suddenly intense and serious. He examined the bench, the straps, and then gently stroked a long, thin finger down her cheek and smiled cruelly. "You have proved you are ready."

He stepped to one side and motioned to the rear of the chamber. Two Fomorii emerged from the gloom carrying an ornate wooden chest which they placed somewhere below her feet. Through the thick stone walls Ruth heard a deep, slow rhythm, as if an enormous ceremonial drum was being hit. Every few beats it was followed by the grim tolling of the distant bell she had heard before; there was something about the relentless sound that made her very frightened.

"What are you going to do?" she croaked.

Calatin merely smiled. He motioned to the other Fomorii, who bent down to open the chest. A second later they rose with a purple velvet cushion on which lay an enormous black pearl, the size of a child's bowling ball. When Ruth saw it, she was overcome by an irrational wave of terror. Unable to control her feelings, she tried to drive herself backwards and off the bench, but the straps held fast.

Two more Fomorii moved in on either side of her and held her head fast. "No," she gasped.

One of the Fomorii forced some kind of metal implement between her lips and then ground it between her teeth. With a snap he forced her mouth open so sharply pain stabbed through the tendons at the back of her jaw.

Almost tenderly, one of the other Fomorii lifted the pearl and brought it towards her.

Ruth had a sudden flash of what Calatin intended. Her eyes widened as panic flooded through her system, but she couldn't move, couldn't even scream; the only sound that emerged from her throat was a desperate, keening whine.

"If it will not go in, break her jaw," Calatin said curtly.

Ruth watched in terror as the pearl came towards her. It was so big it would choke her instantly. She thrashed from side to side, but the Fomorii held her fast.

And then the pearl was so close it was all she could see; the darkness engulfed her every sense. Her lips touched it and it felt as cold as ice, but it tasted of nothing. It pressed hard into her mouth, grinding against her teeth. Her muffled gasps grew more laboured. Her panic obscured all rational thought. There was simply the constantly increasing pressure, the pain as they forced her mouth wider and wider still, the thought that it would never fit, the horror if it did.

And then somehow her mouth was around it and just as she waited for them to retreat, they increased the pressure and began to ram it further, trying to force it down her throat.

She choked, felt her lungs protest at the lack of oxygen. And still they pressed and rammed and forced.

And then a strange thing happened. Through her overwhelming anxiety, she felt an odd sensation deep in her throat; it seemed like cotton wool at first, and then as if her throat was coming apart in gossamer strands.

And then the black pearl began to go down.

The last thing Ruth felt was an enormous pressure and a terrible coldness filling her neck. And the last thing she saw was Calatin's face swamping her vision, grinning triumphantly.

Shavi and Laura woke at first light, entwined together as if they were desperate lovers afraid to face the world. No words were exchanged as they crawled out into a land of drifting white mists and thick greenery. The morning was chill, despite the season, and an eerie stillness hung over all, punctuated only by the occasional mournful cry of a bird and the regular drip of moisture from the leaves. The nagging atmosphere of lament and loneliness had not dissipated in the slightest.

They ate a breakfast of beans and bread in silence against the dull rumble of the river which was so unceasing they no longer heard it. Laura kept a surreptitious eye on Shavi, who still appeared pale and drawn, but whenever he saw her looking he flashed his open, honest smile; even so, she could tell the weight of the night and what was to follow lay heavy on him.

After breakfast they washed the pots in the river and packed up the tent with a meticulousness that suggested they were both playing for time. Eventu ally they had no choice but to pick their trail back along the glen until they reached the steep path up to the bridge.

Ten minutes later they stood outside the chapel compound trying to get a glimpse of the building, but it was obscured by trees and high walls as the current custodians intended. The mist collected even more tightly around them, so it was impossible to see beyond the perimeter of the small, stoney car park outside the visitors' centre. It had the odd effect of distorting sounds so that at times they felt someone was approaching, only for the noise-whatever it wasto materialise yards away. They waited and listened, but after a while they had to accept there was no one else in the vicinity.

"I guess we climb over the wall," Laura said tentatively.

Shavi nodded, rubbing his chin introspectively.

"But what then? Where do we even begin to start looking for…" She glanced over her shoulder uncomfortably, as if she had sensed someone standing there "… that thing we're looking for?"

"The chapel is consistently described as an arcanum, a book in stone. The carvings that cover the building are a code designed to be pondered upon. They may offer religious guidance, or fables-"

"Or they may tell us where the prison cell is." Laura hugged her arms around her. "Okay. Now don't get me wrong-you're a mustard-sharp guy, Shav-ster. But if people have been trying to decipher this place for centuries, what makes you think you can waltz in and do it in a few minutes?"

Shavi wagged a finger at her, smiling. "I never said I could decipher it in minutes. But we have two things denied the searchers who came before us."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Firstly, we know what we are looking for." He took the wagging finger and tapped the side of his nose. "And secondly, intuition."

"A shaman's intuition, you mean. You going to be doing some more of your funny stuff?"

His smile grew enigmatic as he looked towards where the chapel was hidden. "I intend to allow the building to speak to me."

"Well, give it my regards." She turned and walked towards the compound wall. Shavi heard her mutter, but obviously loud enough for his benefit, "You nutter."

She gave him a leg up on to the wall and he pulled her up behind him. A second later they had dropped into the chapel grounds. The building lay just a few feet away across the wet grass, a grim, Gothic pile that looked like it had been designed for some thirties Expressionist movie; it was breathtaking, despite the ugly, silver scaffolding that clung to it. An oppressive, brooding aura rolled off the building, dampening their spirits, almost physically forcing them to bow their heads. It was both threatening and frightening, Laura decided.

"You know that supercharged feeling we got at all the other sacred sites, whatever the religion? I don't get it here." She could see Shavi felt the same.

Slowly they advanced on the chapel, as if it were sleeping, as if it could turn on them and bite. Despite his growing anxiety, Shavi marvelled at its intricate design. Rows of spired columns ranged around three sides like sentinels, or missiles waiting to be launched: the last defence against an uncaring higher power? Towards the west end, a towering wall separated the baptistry from the rest of the chapel. It seemed oddly out of place, like a shield to repel invaders from the west; Shavi could tell from its design that from above, each end of the wall was shaped like a cross.

"A bit over the top, isn't it?" Laura ventured. "I know these old piles were thrown up to show the glory of God and all that bollocks, but this is even more ornate than York Minister. And it's just a tiny chapel in the middle of nowhere."

"It is special," Shavi replied distractedly. "But the architecture itself is a message, or many different messages. Everything has been included for a reason, every stone, every tiny carving."

"Well? Is it talking to you yet? Because I'd really like to get out of here as soon as possible."

"What are you doing?" The stern voice made them both start. They whirled to see a man standing near the door into the visitors' centre. He was in his sixties with a pale, wrinkled face and thinning silver hair, and he was wearing a dog collar beneath an unsightly purple anorak.

"Shit. Rumbled." Laura hissed to Shavi, "You better do the talking. He'll probably think I'm Satan incarnate."

Shavi walked forward, smiling, proffering an open hand. The cleric eyed it suspiciously. "We apologise for the illicit entrance, but time is of the essence," Shavi said.

"The chapel doesn't open until 10 a.m.," the cleric said in his mild Borders accent. "I'll have to ask you to leave until then. And to be honest, you're lucky I don't summon the police."

"We are not tourists," Shavi continued. "We are on a mission of vital importance-"

"We get a lot of strange types round here," the cleric interrupted, "and they all say they're on some kind of mission or other. The legends that surround the place seem to attract all sorts of unsavoury types and, frankly, many of them are distinctly unbalanced." Despite his words he seemed to be eyeing Shavi a little more thoughtfully; he made no further attempt to move them on, as if he was waiting to hear what Shavi had to say.

"We would like to meet with a Watchman." Laura could tell Shavi was shooting in the dark, but his words seemed to have an effect.

"What do you know of the Watchmen?"

"I know they are the secret guardians of places like this. We met one of their number in Glastonbury. He helped us in our mission." Shavi paused. "Are you a Watchman?"

"I may be. What would you be wanting?"

"You know of the change that has come over the world?" The cleric nodded. "Your traditions talk of five people who will fight to save mankind. At least that is what the Watchman in Glastonbury told us. We are two of the five."

The cleric's gaze flickered briefly towards Laura. "You don't look like much."

Shavi held up his hand to silence Laura before she let forth a stream of bile. "Nevertheless, we are a Brother and Sister of Dragons, and we are here at a time of great peril."

"A Brother and Sister of Dragons, eh?" The cleric smiled disbelievingly, although they could see the name resonated deeply with him. Shavi spent a further ten minutes convincing him of their credentials until they saw his expression become confused, then troubled. "Perhaps you are who you say. Then what has brought you here to Rosslyn?"

"You know why this place is?" Shavi turned to face the building. "You know what it hides?"

"I know some of it. Stories, traditions. It is hard to pick truth from myth sometimes. And every tale has a different meaning, depending which mouth tells it." The cleric walked over and peered deeply into Shavi's eyes. "You know," he began with a new seriousness, "I believe you actually might be who you say you are." He suddenly appeared flustered. "Then this is an important time. I've been remiss. To be honest, I never really expected this to happen in my lifetime." He caught Shavi watching him intently. "I never expected it to happen at all," he backtracked. "When you get as old as I am and you don't see any sign of all the things you've been taught, you start to lose your…" He made a gesture with his hand to fill in the missing word. "But how would you know the traditions of the Watchmen, if there was no substance to all I've been taught?"

He was obviously finding the psychological and philosophical repercussions of the sudden revelation troubling. Shavi recognised his growing anxiety and held out his hand once more to deflect the cleric's thoughts. "My name is Shavi. This is my companion Laura. We would appreciate any help you can give us."

This time the cleric took the hand. "Seaton Marshall. Of course I will give you any help I can. But what can Rosslyn offer you?"

"There is trouble in Edinburgh. We are doing what we can, but we are not strong enough. We were told there was power here that could help us, if only we could locate it."

"Power?" Marshall looked puzzled. "Really? Well, I always wondered… You know, I've been coming here on my rounds at this time every day since I took on the responsibility of the Watchman thirty years ago, and never once have I encountered a soul. It was such a surprise to see you, such a surprise." He was clearly overjoyed at this exciting break in routine. "Then the stories are true? That's amazing, that truly is. Come." He took Shavi's arm and led him towards the North Door. "Let me show you one of the most puzzling and marvellous buildings on God's earth."

The interior of the chapel was illuminated only by subdued lighting which had obviously been installed for the benefit of the tourists; it smelled of damp, stone and candles. It was also small, which added to the sense of claustrophobia; gloom collected in the roof and corners like bats. It took a second or two for Shavi's and Laura's eyes to adjust to the shadows, but then they were instantly hit by the true wonder of the place. Everywhere they looked there were intricate carvings in the stone: grinning devils, beatific angels, Green Men peering from the foliage, daisies, lilies, roses and stars, too much to take in. As Shavi slowly surveyed the amazing detail, though, he began to get a sense of the allegories and messages coded in the stone. Books get lost, parchments turn yellow and crumble, but here was something that would carry its meaning for centuries; and how important was that meaning if such a place had to be constructed at such great cost and effort to preserve it?

He felt a frisson that could have been excitement or unease when he realised how many of the carvings translated to their own experience: the Green Men that were everywhere, peering down with the terrifying beneficence of Cernunnos, the angels and devils that bore a disturbing resemblance to the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii. He stopped and caught his breath. There, at the foot of a pillar, was the image with the greatest resonance: a dragon, so out of place in any church, yet at the foundation of the great edifice, as the blue fire and the dragons that represented it were at the root of everything. "Amazing," he whispered. It was all there. Stories and legends, teaching and warnings. It was nominally a Christian place, but here it was speaking of things that were potent long before Christ walked the earth. What did it mean; for them; for all the great religions that sprang from that time?

"Ask me any question you want," Marshall said. "I know the history of this place back to front. I've mulled over every carving until my head hurt, trying to understand what Sir William St. Clair meant when he had the place built. Sometimes I think I've got it. I see God in the great scheme of it all, but-"

"But the Devil is in the detail," Laura said coldly. Shavi was surprised; she was normally at best silent and at worst openly virulent in the face of religious authority.

Marshall coughed uncomfortably. "Not quite what I meant to say, but, yes, I do get a sense of great unpleasantness in certain areas."

"And that's not what I meant," Laura replied, but her attention had already been drawn by the disturbing iconography.

"Why did Sir William decide to build it?" Shavi asked. "There must be some records."

"Many of them went missing in 1700 after a cleric drew on them to write a history of the St. Clair family," Marshall said. "Just one of the mysteries that surround the place."

"Perhaps he uncovered something that others wanted to remain hidden."

"Perhaps. But it may have been that the St. Clairs remained Roman Catholics instead of giving in to the Reformation. The religious divide has always remained strong in Scotland and many Catholics have suffered persecution down the centuries. The desire to remain secure in such a volatile atmosphere has led both the truth and the history to be obscured." His eyes were bright and intelligent; he seemed to have been transformed by boyish enthusiasm at the hope that some of the mysteries might finally be unveiled. "But the St. Clairs also had very strong links to the Freemasons, who guard their secrets jealously. And, some say, to the Knights Templar. And the Rosicrucians. It has been said that the true history of the world is the history of secret societies and if that is true, then all history converges here at Rosslyn."

"Are you going to keep me in the loop or carry on speaking in this foreign language?" Laura asked tartly. "In which case I'm going off to find an icon to kick."

In the Middle Ages there were many stories about the existence of Enlightened Ones," Shavi explained patiently, "the Rosicrucians, an intensely secret society whose leaders were only known to an innermost circle of adepts and the great and good leaders of society who protected them. They were supposedly highly advanced alchemists who were former members of the Knights Templar." Laura gave a weary sigh and made a hand motion for him to continue.

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 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.

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 shapes 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.

And the pick-axe rose and fell, rose and fell. Shards of stone flew off like bomb fragments and clouds of dust filled the air. He coughed and choked and smeared his forehead with sweaty dirt. "Nearly there," he hacked.

Laura wanted to say Don't go any further, but with that thought there was a sudden crash and several stones collapsed into a dark void beyond. Laura jumped back in shock, not quite knowing what to expect. Shavi paused in midswing. Slowly the dust settled.

As their eyes adjusted to the gloom beyond, Laura saw Shavi had been correct in his assumptions. He had uncovered a large tomb filled with dusty stone sarcophagi; on several were carved the sign of the sword which Marshall had attributed to the Knights Templar. The atmosphere that swept out was so unpleasantly stale it forced Laura to clutch her hand to her mouth. But it was more than just the odour that choked her; there was a wave of oppression and threat which came on its heels. She couldn't bear to stay any longer. She hurried back up the steps; Shavi didn't even notice. His gaze was fixed on an intricately carved column of death's heads, Green Men and dragons which he guessed from its siting was a continuation of the Apprentice's Pillar above. Halfway up the column was an area where nothing was carved at all. Gently he touched it. It appeared to vibrate coldly beneath his fingertips.

"Here we are, then," he whispered.

Marshall still sat with his head in his hands, didn't even look up when Laura walked by. She wanted to be out in the open air, where she could breathe, but the Bone Inspector didn't show any sign of giving up. If anything, his hammering against the wooden door had grown even more frenzied, his yells hoarse and broken.

"Give it a rest," she said angrily. "This is supposed to be a place of peace and serenity. We can't hear ourselves think in here."

At her voice he subsided. It was so sudden Laura felt a brief moment of panic that he had something planned, but then he spoke in a voice that was full of such desperation she was shocked. "You musn't go through with this. You have to stop now. I'm begging you."

"If you hadn't acted so up your own arse and told us exactly what was wrong we might have listened." She chewed on her lip. "So what's the big deal?"

"Listen, then." His voice echoed tremulously through the wood. "It is not what lies here, but who: The Good Son." He laughed bitterly. "A name of respect given to placate, to keep something terrible at bay."

"He was supposed to be a good guy," Laura noted.

"You should know by now," the Bone Inspector said with thin contempt, "that when it comes to the old gods there is no good or evil. They are beyond that."

"You know what I mean," Laura replied sourly.

"If you could trust any of the Tuatha De Danann, then he was the one," he conceded. "He was loved. As I said, it would be wrong to attribute human emotions to these gods. They're alien in the true sense of the word, unknowable-"

"But you're going to," Laura noted slyly.

"The Fomorii loathed Maponus-"

"Jealous of his good looks and way with women, I'd guess," she said humourlessly.

"In their bitterness at their overwhelming defeat at the second battle of Magh Tuireadh, the Fomorii were determined to launch one last desperate strike at the Tuatha De Danann," the Bone Inspector continued. "And Maponus as the favourite son of the Tuatha De Danann was the perfect target. They attacked as he attempted to cross over from Otherworld to visit his worshippers here."

"Attacked how?"

"All that's known is that Maponus was struck down as he crossed the void between there and here-"

"If he was killed-" Laura interrupted.

"Not killed. These gods never truly die anyway. What the Fomorii planned was much worse. Whatever they did to him in the void, when he arrived here, he had been driven completely, utterly insane. That's the ultimate punishment: eternal imprisonment in a state of suffering. The world never knew what had hit it. The first sign of what had happened was a small village in the Borders. Every inhabitant was slaughtered, torn apart in so vile a manner it was impossible to identify the dead, even to estimate how many had died. In his dementia Maponus roamed the wild places and in the long nights people spoke of hearing his anguished howls echoing among the hills. Every attribute he had was inverted. He was not the giver of light and life, but the bringer of darkness and death. No love, only mad animal frenzy, no culture, only slaughter. It is impossible to guess how many died during his reign of terror. Tales passed down through the generations told how the fields ran red with blood. And the Good Son, once a name to be revered, became a source of fear."

"What happened to him?" Laura's voice sounded oddly hollow, as if the room had mysteriously developed other dimensions which allowed it to echo.

"He couldn't be allowed to continue in this way," the Bone Inspector replied darkly. "He may have been seen as saviour once, but now he was cast in the role of destroyer, and if humankind wanted to survive, it had to destroy him. Or the next best thing."

"We're a fickle bunch, aren't we?" Marshall was suddenly next to her, his voice painfully sour. "If salvation doesn't arrive just how we expect, we bite that outstretched hand."

"My people gathered in their college, first at Anglesey, then at Glastonbury," the Bone Inspector continued. "It was their time, you see. After so long in the dark, the Sundering had allowed them to grow in strength and hope. Their sun-powered cosmology, their worship of that bright side of Maponus, allowed them to turn their backs on the night and the moon and hope for a greater role for mankind in the mysteries of existence. They weren't going to see all that swept away, especially by a god whose time had passed, even one so close to their hearts.

"In a ritual which took seven nights to prepare, they eventually drew up enough power to bind Maponus in one spot. Even so, it cost the lives of two hundred good men, so the legends tell, reduced in Maponus's frenzy to a shower of blood, bone and gristle. But the others held fast, and Maponus was caught."

Laura glanced over her shoulder towards the steps to the Sacristy. The flinty clink of pick-axe on stone echoed up. "Jesus." Her voice sounded pathetically small.

"You have to stop him!" Marshall hissed. "For the love of God! Before it's too late!"

"But we don't have a choice." Laura repeated the mantra, her head spinning. "If we don't do this here, everything goes fucking pear-shaped." And then she was running towards the steps, yelling, "Shavi!"

Shavi couldn't hear anything, not even the sound of his own frenzied attack on the pillar. His concentration was drawn into the stone and nothing beyond existed. He coughed through the clouds of dust he was raising, scrubbed at the sweat that was dripping from his brow, and swung, and swung. And then finally, with a crack that seemed to tear through the very foundations of the chapel, a sound almost like a human roar, the pillar burst apart. Shavi staggered backwards and fell. And as the dust gradually cleared he saw what lay inside.

"They cut off his head!" the Bone Inspector was bellowing. "They cut it off while he was still alive and sealed it in a pillar. And it was still alive even then! Still screaming! And they buried his body nearby-"

Laura reached the top of the steps, still shouting Shavi's name, just as the first tremor rattled through the building. A shower of dust fell from the roof as a large crack opened up in the stone floor, pitching her to one side. She hit the flags hard, knocking the wind out of her.

Marshall was already moving past her, his arthritic joints cracking under the strain. Laura caught a glimpse of wild emotions in his face as he headed down the stairs. Another tremor hit and he fell from halfway down, banging his head against the stone. Blood spattered from a deep gash as he slammed into the sacristy floor.

The tremors came faster, building in intensity. As she hauled herself to her feet, Laura had a sudden image of the chapel crashing down on top of her, crushing every bone beneath the enormous weight of stone.

Shavi's head was spinning and for a brief moment it felt like he was surfacing from a dream until reality suddenly jolted him alert. The clouds of dust that swept through the chamber were almost choking, and the intense vibrations running up through the floor made him nauseous. But it was the sound that disturbed him the most; it moved effortlessly from a barely audible bass rumble to a high-pitched keening. There was something in the quality that filled him with an overwhelming despair, while making his gorge rise; he could hardly bear it.

And then the dust cleared and he saw the origin of that awful noise. Where he had smashed away the stone of the pillar lay a dusty space, and within it was a severed head. It took him a second or two to make any sense of the features, but gradually they fell into relief: full lips, perfect cheekbones, large eyes, a straight nose. There was something about the face that was incredibly beautiful, yet at the same time sickeningly corrupt. The skin seemed to glow with an inner golden light, but near the jagged skin of the severed neck the hue was queasily green. And the eyes, though dark and attractive, moved from an angry red to purple. The rear and sides of the head were still trapped in the stone, so only the face peered out, as if the owner was comically peering through some curtains. Long hair turned white and matted with stone dust poked out on either side.

Shavi could barely tear his eyes away from those full lips, which moved sensually to make that foul sound. He could feel it rumbling in his stomach cavity, vibrating through his teeth, deep into his skull. He pressed his hands against his ears, but it made no difference.

Although the spectacle was hideously mesmerising, Shavi realised instinctively he ought to get out of there. Before he could move, the largest tremor of all opened a massive fissure in the floor. Chunks of stone dropped from the ceiling and Shavi threw up his arms to protect himself. When he next dared look, he realised a golden light was rising up slowly out of the fissure. The apprehension held him fast; he had to see what was coming.

Within seconds a hand protruded from the dark, and then slowly Maponus's headless body hauled itself out of the hole. For a brief moment it staggered around as if it were learning to walk and then it moved to clamp its hands on the pillar. The remaining stone that held the head crumbled away. Its eyes ranged wildly; there seemed to be no intelligence there at all.

The thin, delicate fingers clutched until they caught on to the head. A second later it was placed firmly on the shoulders, the eyes still rolling. A sickly light eked out from between the head and the body as the two knitted together. And then Maponus stood erect and whole for the first time in centuries, slim and beautiful and golden and filled with all the terror of the void.

Shavi thought his eyes were about to be burned from his head at the wonder of what he saw. "Please," he whispered. "Hear me."

Maponus fixed his monstrous gaze upon Shavi. The eyes flickered coldly; Shavi saw nothing human in them at all. Slowly the god began to advance.

"In Edinburgh, the Fomorii await," Shavi continued. His voice sounded like sandpaper. "We call on you to help us defeat the Cailleach Bheur. Defeat the Fomorii."

Maponus listened, and then he smiled darkly.

Shavi sighed, relieved his message had been understood. But when he raised his eyes back to the glowing figure he saw Maponus was still advancing, his features frozen and murderous. The god stretched out his arms and golden sparks spattered between his hands. Shavi could taste the ozone on the back of his throat. One more step and he began to feel the temperature rise, the pressure build in his head. Deep inside, a part of him was trying to drive him out of there, but he was held in the stress of that dazzling regard. The hairs in his nostrils began to sizzle.

"No! If you have to take anyone, take me!" Somehow Marshall was there, trying to interpose himself between Shavi and the god. His face was scarlet with the blood from his wound, and with his staring, terrified eyes, in other circumstances, he would have cut a comical pantomime figure. But there, in the light coming off the creature, he looked like some tormented soul from a painting by Bosch. Despite his fear, he managed to raise his frail, trembling body until he could look Maponus in the eye. "Take me." His voice was quiet, gentle. He stretched out his arms in a posture of sacrifice, not supplication.

Maponus clamped his hands on either side of Marshall's head. In an instant Shavi could smell the sickening odour of cooking flesh. Marshall howled as the blood began to boil in his veins. Those sparks danced and sparkled all over the cleric's twitching body, raising plumes of grey smoke.

The horrific sight broke the spell. Shavi rolled over and scrambled out of the chamber, throwing himself up the steps from the sacristy two at a time. Laura was waiting for him at the top, her face streaked with tears.

"That smell," she choked.

He grabbed her and drove her towards the door. As they madly threw the pews away from the exit, the chapel began to shake wildly. Enormous chunks of masonry fell from somewhere above, and rifts opened in the walls and floor.

Laura glanced over her shoulder just once at the light gradually rising from the sacristy. "He's coming!" she moaned.

The last pew was thrown aside just in time and then they were hurtling out into the chill, misty morning air. The Bone Inspector was waiting for them, his face showing all the horror that they felt in their hearts. With a deafening rumble, the chapel fell in on itself, shaking the ground like an earthquake.

The three of them were already at the perimeter wall, pulling themselves over to safety. Shavi paused on the summit to look back at the devastation, hoping against hope that the monstrous thing they had unleashed would be trapped under the rubble.

He was overcome by an awful sickness when all he saw was a golden light fading into the mist, moving out across the countryside.