by G Mottram
‘Undoubtedly.’ The smile faded. ‘The reason your father is being so… stubborn about this is because he loves you. He doesn’t want you to go through what he has suffered.’
‘What made my father leave the Watch?’ Jason asked.
Brash cupped his glass in both hands and stared into the depths. ‘Our world is a living nightmare at times. We are faced with visions of hell, day after day, week after week. You can’t know what it’s really like to hunt down and kill a demon-possessed human being until you’ve actually done it yourself. We may be called upon to murder anyone from an old tramp plucked from the street, a powerful politician or perhaps even a child younger than you. Your father, and others, could not accept the Touched and Possessed were no longer innocent men, women and children but vicious, intelligent, powerful monsters intent on enslaving humanity.’
‘So… Dad really had to kill children, possessed children?’ Jason asked, feeling his stomach clench.
Brash lifted his eyes from gently swirling his wine. ‘We all did, Jason. We had to do whatever it took to win… we still do.’
‘But in the films… can’t you… I mean… can’t you just get the demon out?’
Mr Brash nodded slowly. ‘Yes… and no. It can be done by a Gifted who is powerful enough – we call it redeeming. But the Redeemer risks being possessed himself through the direct contact, mind to mind, with the demon spirit. It is far safer and quicker to destroy the host and so force the demon into the open. Then we can trap it, hold the unprotected spirit and let the sunlight do its work.’
‘What does sunlight do to them?’
Brash drained his glass and returned it to a red velvet cushioned slot in the drinks cabinet. ‘Demon spirits can’t withstand bright sunlight outside a host body for more than a few moments. Even inside a strong host, a demon can only be in direct sunlight for a few minutes… then they burst apart – gone forever.’
The Bentley smoothly dropped down a gear as the road began to rise steeply. Jason glanced outside. The cottages gave way to a beautifully landscaped hillside with low fountains and ponds and bright flowers of every colour and size.
The dark driver’s screen blocked out the front view but as they eased to a stop the immense black marble gatehouse rose up on either side of the car. Etched into the gleaming façade, directly over the arched gateway, were two words:
DARKSTON ABBEY
‘Home, sweet home,’ Brash said, barely louder than a whisper.
Massive steel gates swung open and two security guards waved their boss through the tonnes of polished stone.
***
Arches. Gigantic, gothic window arches two and three floors high. Darkston Abbey was magnificent - a sprawling mass of shining black marble totally dominated by its dark tower lancing up through the church’s vaulted roof and lunging for the sky.
The whole abbey was sheltered by the heavily wooded slopes of a small valley which dropped down to emerald lawns where the Darkston River meandered peacefully past the ancient buildings.
‘It’s not much but I’m happy here.’ Brash said.
‘It’s incredible…’ Jason managed.
The Bentley glided down a wide sweeping driveway which ran from the hill-top gatehouse to the valley floor and crunched into a huge gravelled quadrangle. On Jason’s left, to the north, was the church entrance - grand steps leading up to immense double doors with a dozen metres of magnificent stained glass above. On his right was a large, three storey building with a double set of stone steps curving up to the front doors. Directly in front of him was a long building with a bank of perhaps fifteen tall arched double doorways – all closed.
The Bentley crunched to a halt in front of one of the arches and the double doors slowly opened out towards them. Mr Brash took Jason’s glass and stowed it with his in the console cupboard and brushed off some non-existent fluff from his suit.
‘This building is the West Range.’ he explained. ‘It used to serve as storage bays for the monk’s crops, ale and wines but now I use it to house slightly more exciting things…’
The double doors eased to a halt, fully open now, and the Bentley growled forward.
Jason couldn’t see much as they left the bright sunlight for the dim interior. The doors closed silently behind them as he stared out of the windows into diffuse, musty light. Giving up, he reached for the door handle just as the locks clicked open.
He hadn’t realized that he’d been locked in for the entire journey. A little unnerved, Jason opened the door and stepped out on to a marble floor and gasped. They were in the most spectacular garage imaginable. Dozens of small lights faded up to reveal a vaulted ceiling spreading out to either side of him to form well over a dozen bays. In each bay, tiny spotlights illuminated gleaming, prestige cars. Jason knew a few - a silver Aston Martin Vanquish, a black Jaguar e-type, two large Mercedes, a dark blue Range Rover Vogue, a red Ferrari something-or-other, a yellow Lamborghini and, at the far end, a massive, black limousine.
‘Do you like cars, Jason?’ Brash asked.
‘I like these ones,’ Jason replied, shifting a little to get a better view.
Brash laughed - a short but rich laugh that echoed around the chambers. ‘Good – perhaps I’ll let you play in some of them when you’re a little older.’
The Bentley’s driver-door clicked open and the driver stepped out.
It was Cadaveril.
Jason shivered. In the dark of night outside the Old Mill the chauffer had looked like a living skeleton as he’d pinned Jason to the seats of the Bentley with almost demonic strength. The subtle garage lighting didn’t help Jason shake the image. Cadaveril’s eyes were half lidded over in deep cavernous eye sockets and his high cheekbones seemed to be pushing through pale skin that was too tightly drawn around his hairless skull. His body and limbs were stick-thin and made to look worse by the dark suit hanging off him and the crisp white shirt buttoned tightly over his ribs.
‘You have met Cadaveril, of course,’ Brash said.
Jason nodded briefly. The chauffer just looked at him from beneath those heavily veined eyelids.
‘A man of few words, Cadaveril.’ Mr Brash smiled. ‘But very useful… he’s been with me for more years than either of us care to remember…’
Jason looked away from the walking corpse and caught a smile flashing across Mr Brash’s face.
‘Now then, time for a whistle-stop tour of the old place, followed by a spot of brunch I think. You should get your bearings, Jason, as you’ll be spending a lot of time here with us… I hope.’
Jason nodded. He glanced back at Cadaveril but he’d gone. Jason just caught him disappearing into the shadows of one of the bays. The chauffeur hadn’t made a sound. A chill shivered down Jason’s spine - he really didn’t want to meet that man on any more dark nights.
‘Before we set off,’ Brash said, producing one of the ruby-eyed, golden monk badges the prefects wore from his pocket, ‘do make sure you keep my little podgy face on you at all times while you’re in the abbey – it’ll let my people know you’re on our side.’
Brash pinned the badge onto Jason’s polo shirt then led the way to another bay and opened a small, very thick door. A wave of heat and light hit Jason as they stepped out onto a dazzlingly bright, sunlit lawn.
‘The Cloister.’ Brash announced. ‘Sort of a crossroads really for all those monks silently moving from six or seven church services a day to the dormitories, refectory or the fields for a little hard labour. Rather a nice sun trap, don’t you think.’
Jason turned slowly about. The pristine grass was totally enclosed by buildings and the sun glinted off black marble in a thousand different places sending shards of broken light over them. A covered walkway all around the grass offered some relief from the sun. The church and tower on his left, immense and glorious, dwarfed the other Cloister buildings but Jason’s attention was caught by a plain wooden cross standing in the very centre of the grass.
The cross was perhaps three metres hig
h, the wood stained dark in many places. Dangling from its arms were a pair of rough iron manacles.
Brash followed Jason’s gaze.
‘Ah yes… the cross of repentance. The monks of Darkston were a fairly strict lot… they were into making an example of any of the brotherhood who transgressed their rules – perhaps they were late for service or shirked a bit of work or… well just about anything really. Still, better a day or two hanging around here than being sent over to Silent Hill - the House of Correction.’
Jason looked at him and Brash smiled. ‘Unbelievable isn’t it, that our lovely school used to be a sort of monastic punishment prison… to teach errant monks and villagers the correct way to behave.’
Brash stepped out from the covered walkway and on to the pristine grass. Jason followed him, staring at the cross as they drew nearer. The manacles hung deathly still in the sheltered cloister and inside each bracelet were tiny black spikes. He was sweating already… what must it have been like to be chained there in the full heat of the sun staring into the cool shadows of the walkway with those spikes biting into your flesh?
Brash continued his lecture. ‘Very famous, the Silent Hill House of Correction was. The monks there did some of the nastier work for various nobility of the day… the sort of stuff the Tower of London couldn’t handle. That’s one reason why Darkston survived the Reformation and so forth.’
‘One reason? Why else didn’t Henry VIII tear this place down then?’ Jason asked.
‘Glad to see you know your history, young man. Well, for a start, the Darkston monks weren’t exactly Catholic and for another they knew how to defend themselves and had a few hundred slavish town and village dependents hanging around who would fight to the death for them. It also helped that they were stinking rich of course and bought their way into favour.’
Mercifully they passed into the shade of the cloister walk and entered a three-story building through heavily studded oak doors. Inside it was blessedly cool, if a little too bright - the black marble façade of the exterior walls had given way to brilliant white inside. A sea of cool blue shag pile carpet swept his gaze around a large reception area with marble step-benches rising up one side. A narrow corridor ran away to a small door at the far end of the building.
A dark suited, severely beautiful woman with scraped back blonde hair stood up behind a desk opposite the stone benches. Brash waved her back down and led the way down the corridor past closed doors on the right. Everything was quiet and still, even their footsteps sank silently down into the deep carpet.
‘This is the chapter house,’ Brash said. ‘Once a day the monks read a chapter of their good book back there on the benches and then used it as a sort of business centre. I’ve followed their example… after putting in a few basic comforts.’
‘How come they were so rich – the monks I mean?’ Jason asked.
‘Well, their order brought a large amount of wealth over with them from Eastern Europe, then there was the farming and brewing of course and their… correction services. The Darkston monks developed the mining unrecognisably and provided work for the local villagers and townsfolk… provided all the work in fact, owned all the houses… they’d their own little kingdom really.’
Brash looked down at Jason and winked. ‘Quite a good plan, I’d say.’
They reached the small door at the end of the corridor and Brash opened it out on to a small garden with benches set around the edges. Gleaming stained glass windows soared up the church wall on their left but the rest of the shady area was enclosed by single storey buildings.
‘A little cooler here for my staff to take a break,’ Brash said, striding across the grass towards a door directly opposite. They entered a bright, white marble corridor.
On the right was a ‘T’ junction with another long corridor lit by shafts of sunlight streaming through dozens of small windows set high along one wall. On the left, towards the church, was an arch- covered stairway leading up to sturdy double doors inlaid with golden Greek crosses.
‘This place is like a maze,’ Jason said.
Brash frowned slightly. ‘You need to get your bearings quickly if you’re going to survive here. Think carefully – all you’ve done is walk in a straight line across the cloister, through the chapter house and across the shady garden.’
‘Sorry…’ Jason began but Brash waved a nonchalant hand.
‘It’s fine. You probably just need a little brain food inside you,’ he said and turned left towards the golden crossed doors.
Jason hurried to keep up as Brash trotted lightly up to the double black mahogany doors and stopped. He placed his hand on the marble to one side and a small section of stone slid silently down revealing a deep, black recess illuminated from within by a faint, green light. Brash pointed one finger inside and jabbed it as if pressing buttons. Jason heard a slight scraping as if bars were sliding within the mahogany doors and they clicked open a fraction.
‘I’ll think you’ll like my church,’ he said and pushed the doors open wide.
A rush of cool air flowed over Jason and he was bathed in light. An immense stained glass window blazed incandescent with sunlight to illuminate a twenty seat, carved ebony dining table. Sparkling crystal and silver tableware glinted along its entire length.
‘Go through,’ Brash said.
Jason stepped past him and into the dining room... which was the high altar of Darkston Abbey church. The immense building opened up on his left – two hundred feet of black marble arches and alcoves, shimmering stained glass and shadowed ceiling vaults.
The church had a cross shaped floor plan and a man appeared from the left hand arm. Totally white haired, he wore a black tail coat and trousers, crisp white shirt and a thin, black tie. His shining black shoes sent sharp clicks echoing around the church as he walked smartly towards them. He must have been over sixty but he carried himself easily and his round, friendly face lit up with a small smile when he caught Jason’s eye.
‘Good afternoon, young sir. Welcome to Darkston Abbey,’ the man said, his heels clacking on the bare stone as he walked up a set of three wide steps to the high altar area.
‘Thank you,’ Jason managed, finding himself smiling back.
Brash joined him in the dining area. ‘Good afternoon, Myers. An early lunch is needed – just a cold platter, I think. Is Miss Sirensong around?’
‘Indeed, sir. She has been awaiting your return… hungrily.’
Myers winked at Jason, who grinned. He’d vivid memories of the gorgeous, dark haired, Alicia Sirensong whom Brash had brought with him to the Old Mill when he came to visit.
Brash smiled. ‘Really – well we had better feed her as well, then. Let her know we are here, won’t you?’
‘I’d imagine she already knows, sir. Would you care to introduce me to the young gentleman?’ Myers replied and raised his eyes to the ceiling at Brash’s momentary lapse of good manners. Jason grinned again. It looked as if Myers treated the mighty Alan Brash like a favourite, but occasionally errant, nephew.
‘Oops,’ Brash said, putting a hand on Jason’s shoulder. ‘Jason, this is Myers, who on paper is my butler but in fact runs the whole place. Myers, this is Jason Willow who will be training with us.’
‘I am very pleased to meet you, Jason.’
‘Hi,’ Jason said.
‘Will Jason be needing rooms?’ Myers asked.
Brash hesitated and Jason glanced up at him. Was Brash expecting him to stay here?
‘Have somewhere prepared in the student quarters for him to freshen up after training but I suspect he won’t be staying over… this time.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Myers nodded, turned smartly on his heel and left them.
‘Rooms – am I… do you want me to stay… here?’ Jason asked.
‘Only if you want to… we’ll see how you get on in your training. It helps enormously to keep you focussed on learning your Gift if you stay in the same environment.’
Jason nodded non-commit ally.
As much as he’d thought about learning his Gift, he hadn’t reckoned on staying away from home. Dad had never allowed him or Miranda on school trips or sleepovers – always saying they needed to stay close to each other.
Brash pulled out a heavy chair for him at the dining table and they sat with their backs to the windows, looking down the magnificent aisle.
‘Best seats in the house,’ Brash said.
Jason nodded absently and tried to take it all in. Darkly gleaming choir stalls rose up in three banks against each wall and ended at an extravagantly carved, roofed seat which looked like something out of a dark fantasy film. Then the gleaming nave ran between many arched alcoves to the immense main doors and stained glass window that he’d seen from the outside when he’d first arrived at the abbey.
‘Stunning.’ Jason breathed.
‘Why thank you.’
Jason started at the sexy female voice that caressed the back of his neck. He twisted around to see Alicia Sirensong watching them from the doorway. How did everyone move so quietly in this place?
Brash’s personal assistant had been breath-taking the first time he’d seen her but now, as she glided towards him through the split-spectrum sunlight from the stained glass windows, she was nothing short of a goddess. Her lustrous dark hair cascaded over the simple white dress she wore. The fabric hugged her curvaceous figure down to a belt of thin black rope then flowed around her long legs to reveal elegant strappy high heels flashing into view with each graceful step.
‘Alicia – how lovely you look today… don’t you think so, Jason?’ Brash said, standing up to greet the lady. Jason felt his face burn as he lurched up from his own chair.
‘Yes… very..,’ he spluttered, then attempted a recovery. ‘Hello Miss Sirensong.’
Alicia crested the steps and stopped to gaze at the two males before her. Finally, she smiled, a full smile showing perfect, white teeth and slightly creasing the corners of her bright emerald eyes.
‘Why thank you both – what charmers. It is lovely to see you again, Jason, but please call me Alicia… Miss Sirensong makes me feel so old,’ her voice was soft and low, calming him despite the very bad thoughts he was trying to suppress about her.