Pandaemonium Part 16

'I don't believe in Satan, Julie,' Blake replies softly. 'There are no demons with horns and pitchforks and pointy tails, and there is no "presence" of evil manipulating men. I believe in . . . I have faith in G.o.d. The G.o.d within us.'

Heather clocks this hesitation, connecting it immediately to what Kane told her last night.

'Satan is just a symbol we dreamt up for the worst that we're capable of,' Blake adds. 'I don't accept that evil is simply incarnated. Nothing is born monstrous. Monsters have to be created.'

XV Tullian stared back and forth from the desiccated demon corpses to Parducci, feeling like he might burst from the torrent of questions welling inside him, but one preceded all its fellows.

'Why does this remain a secret? Why in a world corrupted by sin, ridden roughshod by arrogant G.o.dlessness, have you concealed such evidence of the truth of our church?'

Parducci nodded patiently, letting Tullian vent his incredulous frustration.

'These are the questions I asked also, when I was first taken here, the questions asked by everyone who sees this place. And I will first tell you what I was first told also: to consider the legacies of the creatures who lie here; of what was wrought in their wake. Hundreds of deaths, perhaps thousands, from a mere two such dark emissaries. The common man, even the common priest, is not equipped to deal with this knowledge. Nor, surely, would G.o.d wish for him to have it. G.o.d does not want men to come to Him through fear of monsters, but through love for His word.'

'But when His word is trampled and scorned,' Tullian protested. 'When the Church's influence is being squeezed out by secular forces in every corner . . .'

'Then we must learn from the Lord's example,' Parducci replied. 'Jesus suffered scorn, scourge and spittle, all of the time knowing he had at his disposal the power to turn all of it back upon his tormentors. He endured for a greater purpose, as we must too. Even in torment, as the world turns its face from G.o.d, even as we may despair for our church's place in the world, it is our sacrifice that this horror, a mere phantasm to others, remains a reality only to us only to us.'

'So it is our burden to know but to remain silent,' Tullian said, and even in saying so he understood that he was accepting that burden upon his shoulders.

'We must endure,' Parducci confirmed solemnly. 'But we must endure with vigilance, which is why you are here, Cardinal. We know what these things are and we know where they have come from. There is but one ent.i.ty with the motive - and evidently the means - to have penetrated this barrier separating us from the shadow realm. We must be grateful that his successes have been few and the damage temporary. However, the greatest danger is not that he will redouble his efforts, but that man will do his work for him. As you have warned us, if scientists are close to deducing how it might be even theoretically theoretically possible to breach this barrier, then that is terrifying, because nothing will prevent them from pursuing such a course.' possible to breach this barrier, then that is terrifying, because nothing will prevent them from pursuing such a course.'

Tullian immediately understood the truth of this. 'Scientists are like children told not to look in a particular room,' he said. 'Once their minds are set upon it, nothing will mean so much to them as their desire to uncover whatever is locked to them. No matter how disastrous the possible consequences, they regard their work as paramount, as though the pursuit of science const.i.tutes its own moral imperative. The atom bomb proved that forever. Scientists pride themselves on objectivity, but they cannot be trusted to be objective when it comes to the morality of their own conduct.'

Parducci nodded solemnly.

'You will therefore understand, Cardinal Tullian, that it would be futile to show them these creatures in the hope that it might convince them of what lies beyond the barrier and dissuade them from seeking to open it. This is another reason why we have never let the world in on this secret. If scientists examined these remains, they would entertain all explanations except except the one that is obvious to us. They would say that these are simply another species of creature, nothing more. An evolutionary tributary, perhaps, that we have the one that is obvious to us. They would say that these are simply another species of creature, nothing more. An evolutionary tributary, perhaps, that we have projected projected our fears on to, as the sight of horses glimpsed in the morning mist, their breath spouting steam, once gave rise to the idea of dragons. Then despite the physical evidence in front of them, they will dismiss the threat of demons as no impediment to their ongoing research.' our fears on to, as the sight of horses glimpsed in the morning mist, their breath spouting steam, once gave rise to the idea of dragons. Then despite the physical evidence in front of them, they will dismiss the threat of demons as no impediment to their ongoing research.'

Parducci turned to him and gripped his hands as he looked deep into Tullian's eyes. 'Only when it is too late,' he said, 'when the seal cannot be unbroken and the blood has started to run, will they finally turn to us. And when that time comes we must be humble, we must be courageous, and we must be ready ready.'

XVI Rocks is walking alone. He just dropped back and let Kirk and Dazza gain a bit of distance; can't be doing with what's going on with the big man just now. n.o.body's really talking much anyway. Everyone is subdued compared to on the journey out, maybe a hangover from the solemnity of their discussion after lunch, maybe a bit of tiredness setting in too. It's still clear, but the sun is starting to dip.

He's aware of footsteps close by and turns his head to see Caitlin walking along just behind and to the right. She notices and gives him a timid, uncertain wee attempt at a smile, like she's half afraid he'll blank her. He wonders why she's walking alone; he thought she was pals with Rosemary and that lot, but he's sure they're way up ahead.

He wants to say something but he's worried that wee unsure look she gave him was just her being polite. It's a long-standing concern of his that the more studious and well-behaved la.s.sies regard him as a bam. That was fair enough a couple of years ago, because he couldn't have given a monkey's, to say nothing of the fact that he was was a bam, but he doesn't like the thought that that's what they still see. a bam, but he doesn't like the thought that that's what they still see.

But then she speaks.

'Hey,' she says, quite tentatively.

'Hey.'

'I just wanted to say . . . what you said up there . . . I really got it. I think the reason my memories are locked up is because my brain doesn't want to make sense of what I saw.'

'I didn't think there was anything to get,' he replies, self-consciousness making him feel he can't take credit for any insight in case she subsequently sees through him for being a fraud. 'Just a head-dump, really.'

'You said you're still scared. That's it. We all expect to be sad at this point, so we know what to make of that, but we don't expect to still be scared. We think that part's temporary. It wouldn't have struck me so much coming from a girl. Guys don't like to admit they're scared. And coming from a guy like you, it really hit home.'

'What's a guy like me?' he asks, trying not to sound too much like he's dreading the answer.

She blushes a wee bit. 'I don't know. Someone . . . not easily scared. Someone brave, I suppose, compared to me.'

'I used to be a bit of a bam. Doesn't mean I was brave.'

'Telling all those folk up there that you're scared - that's brave, if that doesn't sound too much of a paradox.'

'No,' he says, and manages a smile. 'Compared to all that stuff Adnan was talking about, it makes perfect sense.'

'f.u.c.k! Check this,' comes a shout from Kane's left. He and Sendak stop and turn. Beansy is waving from the edge of the treeline, about a dozen yards from the path.

'What?' Kane asks wearily, already looking forward to a warm bath and a cold drink and consequently in no mind to be entertaining any of Beansy's carry-on.

Beansy bends down to lift something. Kane really hopes it's not a dead animal. He can just picture the daft b.a.s.t.a.r.d with a sheep's head, chasing a few shrieking girls through the trees and thus bringing down a whole power of Guthrie-grief upon the lot of them.

To Kane's relief, Beansy holds up a rusted rectangle, though he fails to appreciate what is supposed to be so remarkable about an old sign-plate.

'It says "Mod keep out",' Beansy reports. 'Does that mean you're not allowed to play any of that s.h.i.+tey Gaelic music round here then? Or is it warning you that somebody is is gaunny be playing s.h.i.+tey heedrum-hodrum music, so you'd better stay away?' gaunny be playing s.h.i.+tey heedrum-hodrum music, so you'd better stay away?'

'Naw,' suggests Deso. 'It means you're not allowed in driving a scooter and wearing a racc.o.o.n-tail parka.'

'It's not "mod", ya stupit p.r.i.c.ks,' grumbles Kirk witheringly. 'It's M. O. D.'

Kane turns to Sendak.

'MoD? This isn't army land, is it?'

Sendak gives him a hey-ho shrug. 'The name Fort Trochart not suggest anything to you?' he asks. 'Parts of this area been military land for centuries - but not as much as used to be. We ain't trespa.s.sing on a firing range, if that's what you're worried about. That sign must be fifty or sixty years old. Ben Trochart over there - that's still MoD land. Being why I took us out and around Ben Rudan.'

'So,' Heather says, 'how long are you hoping to hang on to the school chaplain position while going directly against church dogma and telling the kids there's no such thing as Satan?'

'I said Satan didn't exist?' Blake asks. 'You must have misheard. Are you sure I never said Santa?'

They're at the rear, making sure none of the stragglers falls too far behind and gets detached from the group. They've been walking side by side for maybe half an hour without saying anything, but that was because Guthrie was with them at that point. Heather couldn't help but be reminded of times when she and various boyfriends were making only minimal small talk while they waited for his or her parents to leave the room. As soon as the deputy decided to step up the pace in order to investigate whether Deso and Beansy were merely smoking or had in fact set fire to something, not only did she feel free to speak, but she sensed he'd been waiting for the same cue too.

'Actually, I'm cutting my own throat by telling the truth,' Blake admits. 'Maybe Guthrie's right and I should be going all fire-and-brimstone to at least consolidate my base, rather than reaching out to the waverers.'

'No. The kids actually listen to you. That's rare enough for an adult, rarer still for the school priest. There's no way in the world your predecessor, Father Reilly, would have been invited along on an occasion like this. There's no point in providing "spiritual guidance" if n.o.body wants any. The kids know you've got something to offer.'

'Yeah, but is what I've got to offer them spiritual? I mean, is there anything I'm giving them that I couldn't give them without the collar? That's what worries me. My big fear is that I can't reach the people I want to through my ministry, while I'm wary of the people who only want to reach out to me because because of my ministry.' of my ministry.'

'Who do you mean?' Heather asks, suffering a pang of paranoid concern that this might be his subtle way of warning her off turning into a priest-stalker.

'There are people who are quite definitely Catholics rather than Christians, hung up on the ritual and the inst.i.tution. They're sort of Catholicism anoraks.'

'I thought we called those priests.'

'No. We're the crew of the Enterprise Enterprise. I'm talking about the Trekkies here.'

'I got you now,' Heather says. Neither of them needs to name names, and he isn't just talking about Dan.

'They revere the inst.i.tution: the ritual, the magnificence, the hierarchy, the history, the authority.'

'You're worried they're more enthused by the medium than by the message,' Heather suggests.

'That's it. I mean, you wouldn't believe the conversations I end up having. "Infallibility itself was not infallibly defined until Pius IX": someone actually said that to me. The circular logic of it is like an Escher painting. I've never known whether to find it amusing or disturbing. But it isn't that they're not interested in the message, it's that . . .' He winces, struggling to find the words. 'Well, take these kids here. They still go along to church, but for most of them, their engagement is at the level of obligation. They're nice kids who want to do the right thing, and the right thing is going to ma.s.s, believing in G.o.d. They're nice kids already - they're not nice kids because because of their faith. They don't need this medium to get the message, and consequently as they grow up, the medium means less and less to them, in the same way as it means of their faith. They don't need this medium to get the message, and consequently as they grow up, the medium means less and less to them, in the same way as it means too too much to the anoraks.' much to the anoraks.'

'But they were all raised in the Church,' Heather argues. 'Yours was was the medium that gave them the message.' the medium that gave them the message.'

'Kane would call it an unnecessary level of complexity: the values exist and function in society independently, so there's no need to bolt G.o.d on to them.'

'But aren't those values residual of our society's Christian heritage?'

'You could argue that, but you would only prove Kane's point - the residue is the essence, and that which was insubstantial evaporates.'

'If you believe that, why are you a priest?'

'It's not so much that I believe it as that I'm afraid it might be true.'

Heather recalls what Kane said last night: 'He's a priest because he wants wants to believe. to believe.'

'Anyway,' Blake asks, 'why are you the one playing G.o.d's advocate?'

'I'm a Catholic,' she answers.

'But how much of one? I know you go to school ma.s.ses, but you don't take communion. I notice these things.'

'What, do you take a mental register? I always feared Guthrie might do that, but I didn't know you did.'

'I don't.'

'You just keep a special lookout for me, then?'

He laughs, a little too quickly, like he's trying to conceal his embarra.s.sment. She thinks she caught a glimpse, though. She thinks what he didn't say was: ('Something like that.') Before the moment can grow awkward, she returns to his question.

'I'm playing G.o.d's advocate because I'm one of those nice kids grown up. I wish my religion had turned out to be as beautiful and amazing as I once had faith it would. I had faith that the questions would be answered, contradictions resolved.'

'Instead you got "blessed mysteries".'

'Instead I learned that priests weren't offering answers, just ever more sophistry-laden techniques for avoiding the questions - or for getting you to stop asking them.'

'And some surviving remnant of your faith sees me as the last hope? You want me to convince you?'

Heather doesn't say anything. First among the things she doesn't say is: ('Something like that.')

The light is dimming, and to Kane's mind the forest they are marching through is starting to seem more Evil Dead Evil Dead than than Midsummer Night's Dream Midsummer Night's Dream. He's guessing Sendak has taken them a circular route, as he doesn't recognise anything and has no idea whether they are still miles from the FTOF or about to happen upon it around the next bend. He goes to check his watch then remembers it still said eleven o'clock the last time he checked.

Sendak looks just a little concerned. He rubs at his scar, that long line like a sideways question mark with the curve cupping his ear and the tail going around the back of his head. You can hardly see it in most light, so the majority of the time you wouldn't even notice it was there, but Sendak has been absently tracing his fingers along it since lunch. Kane wonders if it's one of those injuries that plays up under certain atmospheric conditions, and really hopes it isn't one that plays up under certain psychological conditions.

'War wound?' he asks.

Sendak looks at him quizzically, confirming how unconscious the rubbing was.

'Oh,' he says, realising. 'Kind of. Finished my career, but it ain't no war wound. An accident on the . . .' Sendak touches the scar again, an action clearly triggered by the memory. '. . . base where I was posted. I was the lucky one. Two of my men got killed.'

's.h.i.+t. That's awful. What happened?'

'I can't talk about it.'

'I'm sorry. I understand.'

'No, I mean I can't talk about it, like, for legal reasons. As in highly cla.s.sified.'

'One of those "you could tell me but you'd have to kill me" deals?'

Sendak smiles, but there's a micro-delay before he does so, as though it takes that time for him to decide consciously that a smile is the expected response.

'That's it,' he says. 'It was in another life,' he adds soberly. 'A parallel universe.'

'So how did you end up here?'

'Took a long vacation after I was discharged. Liked what I found here. Worked out a way to make it permanent.'

Sendak's tone is slightly detached, just a little less natural than during their previous conversations. Could be simply that it sounds rehea.r.s.ed because he must have been asked the same question a thousand times, but Kane wonders if it's just the paranoia induced by these darkening skies that is giving him the suspicion he's being lied to.

Sendak checks his watch, doesn't like what he sees.

'What time you got?' he asks.

'Bang on eleven,' Kane replies without looking. 'Watch must have stopped this morning.'

'Mine too. Eleven hundred hours dead. Got to be closer to sixteen.'

Kane calls back to Gillian, who is walking with Julie about ten yards behind.