Black Cathedral

Bayliss grabbed her arms, propelled her round so she was facing away from him, then slapped her hard on the back. He sensed rather than saw her body as it lurched forwards. She stopped herself from hitting the wall by bracing her arms against the rock.

Some of the beetles had fallen off as he slapped her. Now he ripped off as many as he could locate on her neck and shoulders.

Carter took Kirby by the hand. ‘Come on,’ he said.

With McKinley pulling at Bayliss they pushed at the open door, shutting it behind them as dozens of the rattling beetles scraped against the other side.

‘Are there any still on you?’ Bayliss said.

Kirby shook her head. She was quivering with terror.

You’ll be fine. You did well.

Carter injected the words into her brain and she smiled. She hadn’t done well at all, she knew that. If it hadn’t been for Bayliss she’d have let the things…she pushed the thoughts out of her mind.

‘Thanks, Nick,’ she said.

‘I never did like creepy crawlies.’

This side of the door the air was warmer, slightly stale, as if it was a long-closed cellar. The tunnel was still evident but it was wider, opening up like a river delta. The floor was still stone but smoother; more care had been taken when it was built.

That was the conclusion Carter couldn’t expel from his mind. This had all been built. He hesitated to use the phrase ‘man-made’ because he suspected man had very little to do with the construction. He was in no doubt that the natural ley lines that flowed beneath the island had been amplified over the years by what ever had used them as a line of transport.

They moved slowly along, feeling the walls with their hands, noticing the rock was becoming less rough as the tunnel progressed. Gradually light began to filter around them, so visibility became easier.

A slight bend in the tunnel took them round an outcrop of rock, and when they could see straight ahead again they stopped and stared.

They couldn’t believe what was in front of them.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

It was as though the inside of Planet Earth had been scooped out, hollowed and emptied, leaving just this vast cavern that soared above them to a ceiling they could barely see.

A pale gray mist floated through the air, concealing the walls except for occasional glimpses of black stone. Set in the stone at regular intervals were high stained-glass windows, through which piercing sunlight flooded, even though they were deep beneath the earth.

The rays of light picked out features half hidden in the mist. Row after row of ornately carved wooden pews, on each of which sat an embroidered cushion, ready for kneeling at prayer. The pews were large and sturdy, but carved with delicacy, the figures and motifs unclear; they needed to be closer. There seemed to be flowers and trees depicted in the wood, amongst which creatures moved, some seeming to have horns on their heads, others apparently half human, half beast. The cushions were brightly colored, scenes of ritual and elaborate worship. Where there might be a crucifix there was an inverted cross, where there might be a Bible there was a skull.

‘This isn’t just a huge cave, is it?’ Kirby said.

It wasn’t possible that this far underground there could be light entering through the windows, but the sunlight was pure and bright. As they moved a little further into the cavern they began to see the images captured in the stained glass. They were all mockeries of the scenes familiar in any Christian church. The nativity scene of Mary holding baby Jesus in swaddling clothes was shown as a huge misshapen goat figure giving bloody birth to a monster, while all around creatures bayed and celebrated. These were not shepherds and wise men bearing gifts; these were twisted abnormalities leering and ranting. A scene that would normally be of Jesus on the cross was shown as a grinning devil clinging to the wooden cross by its lizard’s tail.

High above them the ceiling could be glimpsed as the mist began to fade. Somehow they could breathe easily, far more comfortably than back in the winding tunnels. There was a source of fresh air despite the depth. The ceiling was carved out of wood, unseasoned oak by the look of it. Huge chandeliers hung from crossbeams, black candles of thick wax set in holders, flickering flames casting sullen shadows onto the floor below.

As they made their way further inside they realized that they were walking along what in a church would be the aisle. Ahead of them, yards in front of them, was a wide altar, where more candles burned, next to incense burners and decanters of filmy red liquid. To one side of the altar was a font, the large stone lid removed and propped against the side. Steam rose from the water in the font.

‘This is a vast underground cathedral,’ Bayliss whispered. ‘I never read about this.’

Keep your mind closed.

McKinley heard Carter’s words spoken inside his head. It was the right advice. They didn’t know what they were walking into.

Along the stone walls, between the windows, were what seemed to be huge nets, hung from iron hooks set in the walls. The nets were coated in a wispy, grayish white material that resembled dried frog spawn. Inside the nets things were stirring.

As they reached the end of the aisle and stood in front of the altar lowly pitched, discordant organ music began to play. It was a twisted theme on Wagner’s Wedding March. The mist had almost cleared now, and they looked around them, once more experiencing a kind of awe at the sheer magnitude of the place. It was huge, but the perspective was unreal, the walls seeming miles away yet close enough to touch; the ceiling barely visible yet crowding in over their heads.

Noises behind them made them all turn. Kirby gasped.

‘How did we miss those?’ Bayliss said.

On the pews were dozens, hundreds, of shapes. Coated in the off-white material, cobwebbed and cocooned, they became visible as people. Hundreds of people seemingly stored, seemingly in suspended animation, sitting on the pews in mock devotion, waiting…but waiting for what?

They wouldn’t see them, there were too many there, but Michael Bennett, Farrant, Anderson, Casey Faraday, Sheila Thomas and Jo Madley were amongst those preserved.

Rustling above them made Carter and the others look around the walls. The nets were shaking, layers of the weblike material slewing off as the people inside struggled to get free. There was a low murmur as they moved, combined voices creating a hum of anticipation.

‘We should get out of here,’ Kirby said, her voice shaking with barely contained fear.

Carter wasn’t listening. He walked back down the aisle to a pew about ten rows from the front. ‘Sian?’

Staring sightless into space, tears cascading down her face, there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. It was Sian, wrapped in the restricting material, sitting calmly while all around her the others were shaking back to life. Suspended in the moment of their death and now being brought back to some kind of existence.

Carter put his hand on her shoulder and felt the viscous stickiness of the gauzelike webbing that coated her. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. She began shaking her head from side to side in a futile gesture of denial.

‘Sian, let me help you,’ Carter pleaded.

Someone coughed and a cultured voice with a pronounced Spanish accent said, ‘I am afraid she is beyond even your help, Mr. Carter.’

Kirby gripped Bayliss’s hand, and both of them moved instinctively closer to McKinley. Carter looked at Sian, who had sunk back within herself at the sound of the voice. The movement in the pews and on the walls also stopped, and it was as if the whole cathedral was holding its breath. Carter walked back to the others and stood next to McKinley.

The man in front of them was of medium height, average build; nothing about his physique was in any way remarkable. His thick black hair was swept back from a noble forehead, and his strong nose merely heightened the effect of his piercing blue eyes. A smile danced on his full maroon lips, a small neat beard emphasizing the line of