Dark Sanctuary

by H. B. Gregory

  Now he had parted for ever from that one true friend, and was following down another path a new life, alone. Yet not quite alone — the face of Nicholas Gaunt, strong and wise, kindly and steadfast, rose in his mind. Here was another friend, to whom he was bound, and would soon be bound even more closely, by the ties of common experience and secret knowledge shared.

  Next he thought of his parents — of his mother, dead these five years. How often she must have sorrowed over his youthful follies and aimless existence. And his father, who had thought so little of him that, when his wife died, he had come alone to Kestrel. How happy those last few weeks had been, when the two had been reunited, before the old man’s tragic end.

  He remembered his father’s last solemn charge — the trust he had placed in his son’s hands — to keep the curse of Kestrel from the world. How infinitely better than that he hoped to do! To banish it for ever from the face of earth. How proud his parents must be if they could see their son now! Never again would he shame their memory.

  Tony turned his eyes away from the sorry sight of the wasted years behind and set his face steadfastly towards the future, still half hidden in a veil of mystery, but soon to be revealed in all its glowing wonder of knowledge, power, and limitless experience. Rapt in ecstasy, he fell asleep.

  After an early breakfast the three crossed to Pentock in the launch. Lorrimer had been told to expect them back within three days. He had seemed surprised when his young master told him of the proposed journey to London “on business”, and had seemed on the point of making some observation, but had checked himself, and bowed in silence. Sitting in the rapidly moving boat, Tony wondered vaguely what could have been in the old servant’s mind, but he soon forgot the incident.

  The sea was choppy and the sky overcast, but the voyage was accomplished in less than an hour. They had no luggage, save a dressing-case apiece, and made their way to the inn as soon as they had disembarked. Dykes, the landlord, led them through the yard to the stable where the cars were kept, and unlocking the door, helped to roll the great Bentley out. Rain threatened, so they put up the top of the coupé. They were engaged in this task, Vaughan being inside the car, screwing down the fastenings of the hood, when a slight figure in a black cassock turned into the yard. Dykes, who was closing the stable door, was the first to see the priest, and, hearing his greeting, Tony and the doctor turned.

  “Good morning, Sir Anthony,” said the rector, “not a very promising day for a run.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Bennett,” returned Tony. “We’re going up to Town on business; more convenient by road. You have met Dr. Gaunt, I think?”

  They saluted each other, and at that moment Vaughan emerged from the car. At the sight of his gross figure the rector stiffened, and his face went deadly pale. Vaughan straightened himself, and their eyes met. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, broken by Tony saying:

  “Er — Mr. Bennett, this is Mr. Vaughan.”

  Neither made the least offer to shake hands, though Vaughan bowed slightly. The rector remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the other’s face with terrible intensity. At last he spoke, in a voice so unlike his own that Tony was almost shocked.

  “I think we have met before, Mr. Vaughan,” he said slowly.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Bennett,” replied the other with a nervous laugh.

  “No, I don’t suppose you would remember me,” answered the priest. “It is a long time ago, and I have changed a good deal, but I remember you very well.”

  “You have the advantage of me, then. Good day to you, sir.”

  And with this Vaughan went round the car and climbed into the back seat. Tony and Gaunt, who had stood motionless and decidedly uncomfortable during this short conversation, followed, Gaunt taking the wheel. A second later the engine roared into life, and further talk was impossible. The doctor let in his clutch, Tony waved a cheery farewell to the rector, and they swung out of the yard in a great flurry of dust.

  Not until the throb of the exhaust had died away up the narrow street did the rector move, and when he tried to walk he staggered. In a moment Dykes, who was still in the yard, ran to him and caught his arm.

  “Aren’t you well, Father?” he asked anxiously.

  “A little faint — it’s nothing really,” the old priest murmured; but the worthy landlord would not be denied.

  “Come inside and rest,” he urged. “Perhaps a spot of brandy wouldn’t be amiss, eh?”

  The rector allowed himself to be led away, his face drawn with pain, and a dreadful bewilderment in his eyes.

  Gaunt drove without a break to Salisbury, which they reached at four o’clock in the afternoon. After a short stop there for a meal Vaughan took over the wheel, and by eight o’clock they had reached Ealing and turned on to the North Circular Road for Hampstead. Inside an hour the great car swung into the open gates of the house on the Heath.

  The same manservant who had admitted Hamilton, months before, had the door open, and was helping them out the moment the car stopped. After removing the stains of travel they sat down to a light dinner; after which they went to bed almost immediately, for both Gaunt and his colleague were very tired after their long drive, and the doctor insisted that Tony, though not so fatigued, must conserve his energies for the next day.

  Smoking a last cigarette before turning out the light, Tony reflected how cramped his room seemed, in spite of its superficial size, after the great stone-walled chambers of the Abbey. The papered walls, the white ceiling, the electric lamps with their silk shades, all appeared flimsy, ephemeral, beside the solid strength which he had grown accustomed to during the past months. Never again would he be quite happy away from Kestrel; he understood now why his father had never come back; the air of London was close and flavourless after that salty tang.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and clicked off the pendant switch. Why, there was no darkness, even, here! The rays of a distant street lamp found their way in through the wide sash-windows, flinging strange patterns on the walls. Save for the occasional sound of a passing car a profound silence enwrapped the house; the perpetual lullaby of the waves was absent. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

  All Tony had for breakfast was a little fruit and a tumblerful of cold water. This was by Gaunt’s instructions, and would be his last meal for twenty-four hours. It was essential that his spiritual faculties should be at their keenest, and this was one means to that end. He was to spend the daylight hours in solitary meditation, and the doctor took him up to a small room, scarcely more than an attic, under the roof. It was furnished in Spartan simplicity with a table and one chair. There was no window, only a skylight of opaque glass. Here Tony was left, with no company save his thoughts, but so adept was he now at the arts of concentration and meditation that the hours slipped quickly by and he lost all count of time.

  He sat rigid on his chair, like a marble figure, so still were his limbs. His hands were flat upon his knees, his breathing was rhythmical, his eyes closed. So withdrawn were his faculties that he was almost in a state of trance, and it may be that during those long hours thoughts which did not arise in his own brain were projected into his consciousness by the powerful will of his tutor.

  The oblong of light in the sloping roof faded as night fell, but Tony never moved. The shadows grew deeper, until at last his motionless figure became indistinguishable in the darkness, but still he sat on, awaiting the summons which would lead him to the supreme moment. His whole being was poised, expectant; all his previous excitement had passed away, and he was utterly calm.

  Somewhere a clock struck, and as he counted the distant strokes, the first contact he had made with the outer world for many hours, he realized that it was midnight. The hour was at hand.

  The door opened suddenly, letting in a dazzling flood of light which momentarily blinded him, and when he could see again Dr. Gaunt was standing before him, a lamp in one hand and a bundle of clothing in the other.

  Tony sprang to his
feet, catching at the table to prevent himself falling as his numbed limbs refused their office.

  “Is it time?” he whispered hoarsely.

  The doctor nodded gravely, and set the lamp on the table. He was wearing a long robe of scarlet, like a monk’s habit, with the hood thrown back, leaving his head bare.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said quietly, and went out.

  When he returned, carrying a jug of water and a towel, Tony stood naked by the table, subduing by a tremendous effort the rising excitement which threatened to overwhelm him once more.

  “Repeat the ablutionary formula,” Gaunt commanded; and as Tony said the words he had been taught the other lifted the jug over his head and emptied its contents upon him. The water was icy cold, and the shock made every nerve in his body tingle, but as he toweled himself he thought that he had never felt so keen and fresh.

  Then the doctor proceeded to anoint him from head to foot with some pungent oil, applying it according to a set ritual — first to his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, then to his hands and feet, and then to the genitals. Finally he went over the whole surface of his pupil’s body, rubbing until the oil had been absorbed. From each point of contact Tony felt a violent shock, until at last his whole body was racked with a fiery pain, but as the doctor uttered the words of the ritual, and he forced himself to make the responses, the torment lessened and passed away, leaving a strange ethereal sensation, as if he were no longer subject to the laws of gravity.

  When Tony had put on the robe of plain white linen he followed Gaunt down the stairs, still feeling oddly weightless, and scarcely conscious of the treads beneath his bare feet. They stopped at a door on the first-floor landing, and the doctor knocked twice. The door opened a few inches; he exchanged a word with someone within and they were admitted.

  The room which they entered was of great size, and had probably been made by removing the dividing walls of several smaller rooms. The walls were completely covered with black curtains, hiding the windows, and any other doors there may have been. The floor was overlaid by an immense black carpet, whose thick pile muffled every footfall; even the ceiling was painted black, relieved only by a great pentagram in silver.

  The effect of this gloomy drapery was sombre in the extreme, and the absolute deadening of all echo made the voice sound thin and flat, as though one were on a mountain top.

  The sole source of illumination was at the extreme end of the chamber, where six tall candles of dark-coloured wax burned upon a bare stone altar, raised upon three low steps, with two massive seven-branched candlesticks of bronze on either side. On the right of the altar stood a great throne-like chair, heavily gilt, and Gaunt walked towards this, motioning Tony to follow him. As he went the young man caught a fleeting glimpse of some twenty figures, robed in black, their faces hidden by their hoods, seated on low benches at the other end of the room. When he reached the altar he knelt on the bottom step, while Gaunt took his place upon the throne.

  The deep notes of a hidden organ throbbed upon the still air, and the hooded figures on their benches took up the solemn chant. The words were in some strange tongue, and conveyed nothing to him, but the music stirred in Tony’s drowning consciousness, and he became aware of a tremendous atmosphere of purpose, as if the wills of all within the shrouded walls of the dark chamber were directed at him, urging him on, sustaining him in the great act of self-dedication which he was about to make. His own will awoke again, and joined with the rushing stream of volition about him, as he rose from his knees and waited.

  The music ceased, save for one lonely voice, which, rising and falling in a plaintive minor key, seemed to hold all the sorrows of the labouring world, crying out in its travail for deliverance from the perpetual bondage of space and time. So universal was the poignant appeal that Tony felt his throat constrict and the hot tears prick his eyes, while his own deep longing increased to an almost unbearable degree. The singing died away at last, and a pregnant silence filled the room.

  From behind him a large form, which Tony instantly recognized as Vaughan’s, despite the hood, approached and stood at his side, addressing the scarlet figure on the throne:

  “Most reverend Master, I present unto thee Anthony Lovell, who desires most earnestly to be admitted to the high fellowship of our Order.”

  Gaunt spoke, addressing Tony:

  “Dost thou desire to be admitted to the brotherhood of the ancient mysteries?”

  “I do so desire,” replied Tony in the accustomed form.

  “Approach, then, Anthony, the altar of our worship, and, kneeling at it, make the vows, as I shall bid thee.”

  Tony climbed the steps and knelt, resting his hands on the cool stone. Gaunt went on:

  “Swear, then, in the presence of those who will soon be thy brethren, to take upon thee the perpetual service of our Lord, to work His will in all things, to strive ever for the establishment of His Kingdom upon earth, and to obey they superiors at all times.”

  Obediently, almost in a dream, Tony repeated the oath. As he did so the thought flashed through his mind that this was the first time he had ever heard Gaunt mention any form of worship, particularly the worship of a Person, but before his dulled brain could grasp the significance of this the Master’s voice continued:

  “Swear, then, that never wilt thou reveal the inner secrets of the Order, and of thy service therein, to any living soul outside that Order.”

  “I swear!”

  “Repeat after me: All these things do I swear by the Seal of Solomon, by the Veil of Isis, by the Key of Ashtaroth, and by the Name of Names; and if I break this oath may my soul be cast into the Abyss.”

  Automatically Tony said the words after him. The queer sensation of floating which had been with him ever since the anointing was growing more and more powerful; his head was spinning, and he was scarcely conscious of his surroundings. His one desire was to get this business over and lie down; he had almost forgotten the burning thirst for knowledge which had possessed him only a few minutes before.

  “Anthony, stand up and face thy brethren,” said the remorseless voice.

  Long obedience to his tutor brought Tony staggering to his feet; he turned, clinging to the altar behind him with both hands. There in the gloom was the double row of dark figures, their eyes glowing in the recesses of their hoods, all staring fixedly at him; the concentrated stream of energy pouring from them beat upon him like a steady wind.

  “Now swear the most mighty oath of all, and receive freely all we have to give of knowledge, power, and secret wisdom. Repeat after me: All this do I swear in the Name *****.”

  Here Gaunt uttered a word which may not be written, and as the awful syllables throbbed upon the still air it seemed to Tony that an icy wind blew about his thinly clad body and the floor rocked beneath his feet. Twice he opened his mouth, twice he strove to force his lips to frame the words, while within his drugged brain a thin small voice screamed shrilly, “No! No! No!”

  Then, lifted on the stream of volition from those sinister watching figures, his own will strengthened, caught hold, and in a firm voice he swore the oath.

  As the awful words died echoless against the shrouded walls a frightful silence fell, and it seemed to Tony that he stood there motionless for an eternity, while all around him the dust of ages drifted down ceaselessly, like gentle snow. Then the sable hangings, the scarlet figure on the throne, the paunchy form beside it, and those others in the background all faded from his sight, leaving only a fathomless gulf in which he floated, bodiless. All around was the void of outer space, sown with blazing stars, and before his eyes the great globe of the earth spun slowly on its axis, presenting shimmering seas and shadowy continents to his strangely incurious gaze as it rotated.

  All at once he knew that he was not alone in the void, for behind him he could feel a Presence hovering, like a dark cloud veiling the stars, and casting its shadow upon the very earth beneath, and a Voice whispered softly to his soul: “All this will I give unt
o thee . . .”

  For an instant one tiny point of light flickered in a corner of his being, then, as his conscience died, that too was overwhelmed by the great flood of darkness pouring in, and without another effort he gave up the pitifully unequal struggle. Staggering down the steps, he turned and fell upon his face, worshiping the awful Presence that hovered upon the altar.

  Gaunt sank back in his chair, his face a mask of devilish triumph, and Vaughan leapt forward, standing over Tony’s prostrate figure. Raising his hands aloft, the hood falling back from his face, he cried:

  “O Satan, Lord, receive this Thy servant whom we here dedicate to Thee. Be with him in life, and in death, and through all eternity, and uphold him with Thine almighty power!”

  At a sign from Gaunt two of the hooded brethren advanced, lifted Tony’s slight form, and laid him on the altar. Then began the monstrous blasphemy of the Black Mass.

  But Tony was hardly conscious of it, for the reek of the incense curling about him in thick yellow clouds still further stupefied his senses, and finished the work which the ointment had begun. His mind, however, was quite clear and active, and he realized perfectly what was being done: how he was being finally consecrated to the service of the Prince of Darkness.

  That all this was quite unnecessary he knew full well. With that one act of worship he had sealed his doom for ever, but he was not afraid, and had no regrets. He realized that he must have known, subconsciously, all through the long months of his preparation, where it was all leading to. Only the consummate skill of Nicholas Gaunt had prevented him from realizing it in time to draw back, and he doubted, even now, if he would have drawn back, had he known all. For the dark power surging through his veins filled him with exultation; he knew at last that this was the only certain way to all knowledge and all mastery. The wisdom of the Serpent coiled about his brain, and he saw the current of desire in which all things move, and knew that he could direct it as he willed.