Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 (85 page)

 
          
Though
Colin was not himself a Catholic, these objects had been symbols of the Light
for almost two millennia and were still the object of reverence for the peoples
of half the world. He had a dispensation to possess and to use them, ensuring
that these tokens were at their most potent.

 
          
Corrosion
seemed to spread through the metal at the points Colin had touched with the
holy oil. Opening the pyx, he removed a Consecrated Host and touched it to the
four places on the archway he had previously anointed before breaking it in
half and burying the pieces at the base of the archway. There was a sharp break
in the atmosphere of the place, as though the air pressure had suddenly
dropped.

 
          
"Better
now?" Colin asked.

 
          
"Yes,"
Claire answered wanly. "But I'm not looking forward to the church."

 
          
It
was bad, as Claire had predicted. Using Claire as a spotter, Colin soon ringed
the inside of the building with fragments of the Consecrated Host, making a
holy barrier against the Shadow.

 
          
The
stone floor had once been carefully inlaid in a chessboard pattern, just as the
floor of all Templar churches were, though time had faded the blocks to only
vaguely dissimilar greys instead of their original stark black and white. The
walls were carved with the cryptic symbols of a faith far older than
Christianity. Fortunately the ornate carving inside the ancient church made it
possible to conceal their meddling, and inside the building they could risk
using the lantern.

 
          
"Anything
else?" Colin asked, after the circuit was complete.

 
          
"That,"
Claire said, pointing toward the Black Altar.

           
Colin advanced upon it, walking
warily. It was about three feet high and looked almost like an altar in a
conventional church. That similarity was only illusion. The Black Altar was a
shaped outcropping of the native bedrock, and in fact the whole church had been
built around it.

 
          
Though
he could anoint it, there was no place near it to conceal any of the more
potent items in his arsenal. But as Colin looked closely, he could see that one
of the paving stones around the back was loose; the mortar that held it flush
with the altar eaten away by time.

 
          
"Claire,
give me a hand with this. There's a crowbar in the bag."

 
          
Working
together, they managed to lever the stone halfway out of its bed. Colin was
gasping for breath when they were done, and his pulse was a thunderous redness
behind his eyes.

 
          
"Colin
—
are you all right?"
Claire asked, worried.

 
          
"Yes,
of course. Never mind me now, we have work to do," he answered shortly.

 
          
As
Claire kept the tension on the bar, Colin scraped a small hole in the aged dirt
beneath the stone and placed an unbroken Host there. Then he reached into his
bag and removed one last item: a delicate gold rosary that Father Adalhard
Godwin had given him just before he died.

 
          
"Save
it for a real emergency, Colin, my boy. I'll trust you to know one,"
the
old priest had said.

 
          
Colin
kissed the symbol of the One whom his Order revered as a fellow Master of their
Craft, and placed the rosary against the ground as well. Then he and Claire
lowered the stone back into place, and Claire brushed dirt over it until the
evidence of their tampering was hidden. Colin knelt beside her, struggling to
regain his breath. His chest felt as if there were an iron band about it,
crushing away his strength. He wasn't looking forward to the hike back to the
car.

 
          
Not
as young as I used to be, I suppose. But young enough.

 
          
"I'd
offer to call a doctor, but the only good one in fifty miles is tied up in
Matthew Hay's basement," Claire said, covering her worry with a joke.
"Colin, are you
sure
you're all right?"

 
          
"We
can hardly call the whole thing off if I'm not, can we?" Colin said
snappishly. He pulled a handkerchief and mopped his face, wiping away the sweat
that beaded there. "I'm sorry, Claire. I'm just not feeling quite myself.
Tension, I suppose."

 
          
"I've
never known
you
to get stage fright," Claire said. She bit her lip
nervously, obviously deeply concerned.

 
          
Well,
neither have I, come to that. But we can t just pack it in and come back later,
and this isn't something Claire can handle alone. Thank God Rowan's out of it,
at least.

 
          
The
first rays of the sun were shining down through the chinks in the old slate
roof, and enough light streamed through the open door to make the electric
lantern unnecessary. Colin reached out and shut it off.

 
          
"How
is it now?" he asked Claire, partly to distract her from his distress.

 
          
Claire
sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. She looked as drawn and weary as he
did; the work of both Sensitive and magician exacted its subtle toll from the
practitioner.

 
          
"Clear,"
she said at last. "At least I'm pretty sure it is. No longer consecrated
by intention, at any rate. When Hay comes here planning to raise up his Dark
Forces, he's due for a big surprise." She forced a smile.

 
          
"And
a bigger one, I hope, than just finding out that his dark gods have deserted
him," Colin said. The pain in his chest was finally easing and he could
draw a full breath again. He smiled encouragingly at Claire. "C'mon, old
girl. Let's get moving before anyone finds we've been meddling here."

 
          
Sunset.
The ancient church was filled with the twelve men and women who made up the
members of the coven itself and the eight who were their acolytes and
associates.

 
          
How
can they not know? How can they not care?
Claire wondered in despair as she
gazed toward the bound figure upon the Black Altar. She'd told Uncle Clarence
nothing more than that she would be staying with friends overnight. He'd been
worried enough about her going out on August Eve in the first place to accept
her vague tale without comment. Fortunately, neither he nor Justin was in
danger, since the family Gift had bypassed both of them. Thank God for
Taghkanic
College
—
she did not know what she
would have done if she'd had Rowan to protect tonight as well.

 
          
From
where she stood, Claire could see Brian Standish's eyes glitter with fear and
fury, but there was nothing she dared do to let him know that help was near.
Twenty men and women had gathered here tonight expecting to see the murder of a
human being. This was twentieth-century
America
, yet they treated tonight's
event as though they were going to the movies.

 
          
She
crowded closer to Colin, trying not to let her distress show. She was huddled
inside a too-hot hooded robe borrowed from the Miskatonic Drama department and
still felt horribly exposed. When she'd been introduced tonight as Colin's
acolyte, she'd been careful to keep her hood well forward, lest Hay recognize
her as the woman who'd thrown him out of Sally's house in May. But Hay was far
too excited by tonight's ritual to be paying close attention to an
insignificant hooded figure accompanying a man he trusted.

 
          
Colin
stood rock-steady beside her, as impassive as a statue, waiting for the moment
to strike. Claire envied him his calm
—
although perhaps the gun he
was carrying had a little to do with it.

 
          
It
took almost an hour before Hay began the ritual by lighting the incense, adding
to the choking summer heat in the crowded space. Sally was not present; she
would come later, after the ceremony had begun.

 
          
Claire
squinted her eyes, trying not to look as Matthew Hay
—
naked, painted, and masked
—
made his obeisances to the
Great Horned One and the Black Virgin and their lesser devils amid clouds of
acrid smoke. After what she and Colin had done this morning, all this was now
mere playacting. They had banished the echoes of the Evil that had been done in
this place, leaving it inert, bereft of influence. In fact, Hay's posturings
would even have been funny, if Hay weren't intending to kill Brian Standish.

           
Claire did her best not to flinch
when Hay lifted a squirming kitten from a basket behind the altar and gutted it
as carelessly as another man might open a can of beer. In the dead animal's
blood he anointed Brian at the Five Points, and then marked a smeared cross
over his heart
—
no Christian cross this, but a sign of sacrifice, showing
the High Priestess where to strike. Claire felt tears gather in her eyes, and
took as much comfort as she could from the fact that the poor animal was the
last thing that would die at the hands of the Church of the Antique Rite.

 
          
Now
the congregation began to chant and sway, working themselves into a trance
state
—
not
that this was difficult. Claire could smell cannabis mixed with the incense and
see smears of grease on several foreheads. She remembered that Sally had
mentioned an unguent that the coven members anointed themselves with. Everybody
here was already as high as the proverbial kite, and the contact high began to
make Claire uncertain of her own perceptions.

 
          
At
an unspoken signal, the congregation fell silent and began to shuffle backward,
opening up a corridor between the altar and the door.

 
          
Sally
Larimer appeared in the doorway.

 
          
No,
not Sally. This was Witch-Sara, three hundred years a Priestess and Witch. She
stalked
—
there
was no other word for it
—
slowly toward the Black Altar, wearing a long loose gown of
embroidered silk. Hay slipped a black iron knife into her hand, and Sara raised
it high over her head.

 
          
Claire
waited for Colin to produce his gun and stop the ritual, but he did not. She
was about to cry out, when the knife came down
—
but not to kill.

 
          
"Run,
Brian!" Sally screamed, sounding like herself at last. "Call the
cops!"

 
          
With
a cry, she cut through the single rope that was looped around Brian's body in
an elaborate cable-tow. Once the cord was broken, he began struggling free.
Sally flung the knife as far from her as she could; Claire heard it ring out as
it struck the rock.

 
          
Claire
wasn't sure what good Sally thought Madison Corners police would be
—
ten to one, there were a few
of them already here
—
but it was a brave gesture.

 
          
"Kill
them both!" Hay roared.

 
          
Claire
could feel his fury, and such was the power of the coven's Horned One over them
that his congregation was ready to do murder without a single qualm. But in
the moments it took them to rally themselves to do his bidding, Colin stepped
forward, drawing his gun at last. As they surged toward the Black Altar, he
fired toward the roof.

 
          
"Back!"
he shouted.

 
          
They
stopped where they stood, temporarily startled by the gun, and Claire saw Colin
reach up to clutch at his chest with his free hand. She started toward him,
then stopped as she heard a hideous howling from behind her. She turned, to see
Hay advancing upon Brian menacingly, the Black Beast glaring out of the
smoke-reddened eyes visible beneath the mask he wore.