'Who told you that? That old fool Gregory!' Morgan mocked. 'He would say that. And do you know why? It's because he lacks the nerve to try anything that's truly ambitious. All he's fit for is making gullible apprentices dig useless pits before filling them in again! For years he's tried to keep me from this. He even made me swear to my mother that I'd never attempt the ritual again. Love for her kept me bound to that promise, until her death freed me at last and finally made it possible for me to seize what's mine! Old Gregory is my enemy.'
'Why do you hate him so much?' I demanded. 'What's he ever done to hurt you? Everything he's done has been for the best. He's a better man than you by far and generous to a fault. He helped your mother when your real father left. He gave you an apprenticeship, and even when you turned to the dark, he spared you what you really deserved. A malevolent witch is no worse than you, and she's bound alive in a pit!'
'He could have done that, it's true,' Morgan said, his voice quiet and dangerous. 'But now it's too late. You're right. I do hate him. I was born with a splinter of darkness in my soul. It grew and grew until I'm now what you see before you today. Old Gregory is a servant of the light, whereas I belong fully to the dark now. Because of that, he's my natural enemy. The dark hates the light. Always it's been so!'
'No!' I cried. 'It doesn't have to be like that. You have a choice. You can be what you want. You loved your mother. You're capable of love. You don't have to belong to the dark, don't you see? It's never too late to change!'
'Save your breath and be silent!' Morgan snapped angrily. 'We've talked too much. It's time to begin the ritual. . .'
There was silence for a while and all I could hear was the beating of my own heart. At last Morgan began to chant from the grimoire, his voice rising and falling in a rhythmic, sing-song manner that reminded me very much of the way priests sometimes pray before a congregation. Most of it was Latin but there were also words from at least one language that I didn't recognize. It went on and on; nothing seemed to be happening. I began to hope that the ritual wouldn't work or he'd make a mistake and Golgoth wouldn't appear. But soon I sensed that something was changing.
It was growing slightly colder in the chamber. The change was very slow and gradual, as if something very big was drawing nearer but had a vast distance to cross. It was that special cold that I'd sensed around Morgan previously. The power that he drew from Golgoth.
I began to wonder what my chances of being rescued were. It didn't take me long to work out that they were very slim. Nobody knew about the entrance to the tunnel. Although I'd dug into the earth and uncovered the stone, the weather had been worsening and a blizzard would soon cover it again. The Spook would miss me, but would he be concerned enough to go out looking for me in a blizzard? If he went to Andrew's shop, Alice might just tell him where I'd gone. But even if he went to the chapel, what were the chances that he'd find my staff? It was in the copse outside the fence; by now it would be covered with snow.
I found that I could move my hands a little. Could I work the rope loose enough to get them free? I began to try, bringing them together and apart, twisting my wrists and fingers. At least Morgan wouldn't spot what I was up to. He was too busy chanting the words of the ritual, hardly pausing even when he turned a page of the grimoire. Then, as I looked at him, I noticed something else. There seemed to be new shadows in the room. Shadows that couldn't just be explained by the position of the five candles. And most of the shadows were moving. Some were like dark smoke, others grey or white mist, writhing on the outside edge of the pentacle, as if trying to get in.
What were they? Were they lingerers, accidentally caught up in the power of the ritual and brought to this place against their will? Or maybe the spirits of those who'd been buried in the barrow and nearby. Either seemed likely, for the ritual was one of compulsion. But what if they noticed me? They couldn't reach Morgan: he was protected. But what if they became aware of me?
No sooner had that thought entered my head than I began to hear faint whispers all around me. It was hard to catch the meaning of what was being uttered, but the occasional word was given emphasis. I heard 'blood' twice and also the word 'bone' and then, quite clearly, my own surname, 'Ward'.
I began to tremble uncontrollably. I was afraid but I struggled hard against it. The Spook had told me many times how the dark could feed upon terror: the first step to defeating it was to face and defeat your own fear. So I tried; I really tried, but it was so difficult because I wasn't facing the dark armed with the skills that I'd learned. I wasn't on my feet, gripping a rowan staff or hurling salt and iron. I was a bound prisoner, totally helpless, while Morgan was performing perhaps the most dangerous ritual that a mage had ever attempted. And I was part of that ritual, a spark of life that was being offered to Golgoth, to compel him to this spot. And according to Morgan, the moment he appeared, he would take not only my life but also my soul. I'd always believed that I'd live on after death. Could that be taken away? Could something kill your very soul?
But then the whispers gradually faded away, the shadows dissolved and it even seemed to become a little warmer. My trembling eased and I breathed a sigh of relief, but Morgan carried on chanting and turning pages. I started to think that at some point he'd made a mistake and had failed; I was quickly proved wrong.
Soon the coldness came again and with it the smoke wraiths, contorting and writhing at the boundaries of the pentacle. And this time it was worse and I recognized one of the wraiths. It had the shape of Eveline, with large, grief-filled eyes.
The whispering intensified and was filled with hate so fierce that I could almost taste it; invisible things whirled about my head, passing so close that I felt draughts against my face, which lifted the hair upright from my scalp. Soon the threat became more substantial. Unseen fingers tugged at my hair or pinched the skin of my face and neck, and cold stinky breath wafted against my forehead, nose and mouth.
Again everything became quiet. But it didn't last long. Once more the coldness grew and the wraiths gathered. And so it went on, minute after minute, hour after hour through that longest night of the year. But the periods of peace and calm were getting shorter; the times of fear longer. There was a rhythm to what was happening. The ritual was building in power. It was like the waves of an incoming tide crashing onto a steep stony beach. Each wave was more wild and powerful than the preceding one. Each one drove itself further up the shingle. And at each peak of activity the tumult intensified. The voices screamed into my ears, and orbs of baleful purple light were now circling the pentacle close to the ceiling of the chamber. And then finally, after what seemed hours of Morgan chanting from the grimoire, he finally achieved what he'd set out to do.
Golgoth obeyed the summons.
Chapter 20
For long, terrifying minutes I could hear Golgoth approaching. The very ground began to shake and it sounded as if some angry giant were climbing up towards us from the bowels of the earth. A giant with immense claws that was tearing aside solid rock in his eagerness to force a way up into the chamber.
If I'd been Morgan, I'd have been terrified, simply petrified with dread, unable to utter another word. Or I'd have halted the ritual because it was madness to continue. But he didn't. Morgan just carried on reading from the grimoire. He'd surrendered to the dark, seeking the power that he craved, whatever the cost. Despite the threatening rumbles from below there was no longer even a breath of wind, but the five black candles began to flicker and almost went out. I wondered how important they were to the ritual. Were they a vital part of the pentacle defences? It seemed very likely: if they did gutter out, he'd be no safer than I was. The candles flickered again but there was no sign of fear from Morgan at all. He was totally absorbed by the ritual and just went on chanting from the grimoire, oblivious to the danger.
The ground began to shake more violently and there were more loud disturbing sounds from far below. By now there were so many wraiths gathered about the pentacle that they were merging into a whir
ling grey and white mist and their individual forms were no longer distinct. A vortex of energy was pressing against the invisible barrier that marked the perimeter of the pentacle and it threatened to break in at any moment.
A few moments longer and it would have done so -I'm sure of it. But something occurred to blast the wraiths out of the chamber and probably back whence they came. As small stones began to shower down from the roof, there was a roar, together with a grinding, crunching cacophony of sound, and I looked to my right, towards the tunnel that had brought us to the chamber. I saw an avalanche of earth as its roof fell, sealing us in, hurling a mayhem of debris and dust outwards. To my dismay, the tunnel was now totally blocked. Whatever happened now, I'd be trapped down here for ever.
At that moment I would almost have welcomed death: at least then my soul would survive. For I knew that, very soon, Golgoth would arrive and my body and soul would both be snuffed out. I would be obliterated. And the fear I felt at that moment made my whole body shake.
But very suddenly there was a change. Without warning, Morgan ceased chanting and lurched to his feet. His eyes were wide with terror and he dropped the book. He was making for the edge of the pentacle: he took one step towards me and opened his mouth wide. His eyes were filled with fear.
At first I thought he was trying to speak or scream. Now I know better. On reflection I realize that he was simply trying to breathe.
Crystals of ice had already formed inside his lungs and that step was the last he ever took. Opening his mouth was the final conscious movement he ever made. He froze in front of me. Literally froze, dusted from head to foot with a white frost. Then he toppled forward and the moment that his forehead, arms and shoulders struck the ground, he shattered like an ice stalactite. It was like brittle glass shivering into splinters. Morgan was broken, pulverized, but no blood flowed because he was frozen to the very core of his being. And now he was dead. Dead and gone.
I suppose that he'd made a costly mistake with the ritual and Golgoth had materialized within the pentacle to slay the necromancer on the spot. For now, within the three concentric circles, there was a brooding presence. Despite the five flickering candles I couldn't see it but I knew it was there, and I could feel cold hostile eyes staring out of the pentacle straight towards me.
I sensed Golgoth's desperation to escape. Once beyond it he would be free to work his will upon the County; free to plunge it into decades of freezing winter. The candle flames danced again as if they were being wafted with invisible breath but I could do nothing. I was terrified. What could I do to save the County? Nothing at all: I was tethered to the iron ring awaiting my own fate.
At that moment Golgoth spoke to me from the pentacle...
'A fool lies dead before me. Are you a fool also?'
His voice filled the chamber, echoing back from its every corner. It was like a harsh wind, blasting the grim heights of Anglezarke with snow.
I didn't answer and Golgoth's voice rasped again, this time lower but harsher, like a rough file against a metal bucket.
'Have you a tongue, mortal? Speak, or shall I freeze and shatter it as I did the fool?'
'I'm not a fool,' I answered, my teeth beginning to chatter with fear and cold.
'It pleases me to hear that. Because if you are indeed blest with wisdom, then before this night is done, I could raise you up higher than the highest in this land.'
'I'm happy just as I am' I replied.
'Without my help you will perish here. Is death what you seek? Will that make you happy?'
I didn't answer.
'All you have to do is dislodge a candle from the circle. Just one candle. Do that and I will be free and you will live.'
Bound to the ring I was several feet short of the nearest candle, so I didn't know how he expected me to reach it. But even if it had been possible, I couldn't have done it. I couldn't save my own life at the expense of the thousands of people who would suffer in the County.
'No!' I said. 'I won't do it-'
'Although trapped within the bounds of this circle, I can still reach you. Let me show you ...'
Cold began to radiate out from the pentacle, the mosaic whitening with frost. A pattern of ice crystals was forming until I could feel the chill rising into my flesh from the floor, starting to numb me to the bone. I remembered Meg's warning when I left for home: '... wrap up warm against the cold. Frostbite can make your fingers fall off.'
The most severe cold was at my back, close to my hands where they were bound to the ring, and as the cold bit into my flesh, I imagined my frozen fingers with the blood no longer circulating, becoming blackened and brittle, ready to break off like dead twigs from a dying branch. I felt my mouth opening to scream, the cold air rasping within my throat. I thought of Mam. Now I would never see her again. But suddenly I fell away onto my side, away from the iron ring. I glanced back and saw that it was in pieces at the foot of the wall. Golgoth had frozen and fragmented it in order to free me. He'd done it so that I could do his bidding. He spoke to me again from the pentacle, but this time his voice seemed fainter.
'Dislodge the candle. Do it now or I'll take more than your life. I'll snuff out your soul too ...'
Those words sent a deeper chill into me than the cold that had shattered the iron ring. Morgan had been right. My very soul was at risk. But to save it, all I had to do was obey. My hands were still tied behind my back and had no feeling in them, but I could have stood, moved towards the nearest candle and kicked it over. But I thought of those who would suffer because of what I'd done. The severe winter cold itself would kill the old and the young first. Babies would die in their cots. But the threat would become even greater. Crops wouldn't grow and there'd be no harvest next year. And for how many years after that? There'd be nothing to feed the livestock. Famine would result. Thousands would perish. And it would all be my fault.
Kicking over the candle would save my own life. It would save my soul too. But my first duty was always to the County. I might never see Mam again, but if I freed Golgoth, how could I ever look her in the eye again? She would be ashamed of me and I couldn't stand that. Whatever it cost, I had to do what was right. Better oblivion. Better to be nothing than live to experience that!
'I won't do it,' I told Golgoth. 'I'd rather die here than set you free.'
'Die, then, fool!' Golgoth said, and immediately the cold began to intensify. So I closed my eyes and waited for the end, as I felt my body becoming numb. Strangely I was no longer afraid. I was filled with resignation. I'd accepted what was going to happen.
The cold must have made me pass out because the next thing I remember is opening my eyes.
It was very still and quiet in the chamber and the air was much warmer. To my relief, Golgoth had gone. I could no longer sense his presence. But why hadn't he carried out his threat?
The pentacle was intact and all five candles were still burning. Within it I could see a figure lying face down. By his cloak I recognized Morgan. I looked away quickly. The white had been replaced by red. The pieces of Morgan were beginning to thaw.
To my astonishment, I was still alive. But for how long? I was trapped. Soon the candles would burn low and go out and I'd be plunged into darkness for ever.
I wanted to live, and suddenly I began to struggle desperately against the rope. I was no longer tied to the iron ring but my hands were still bound behind my back. I had pins and needles in them but the circulation was returning. If I could only get them free, I could use the candles one at a time. That would give me hours of candlelight to work by. The passageway was blocked but I could dig with my bare hands. It was worth a try. The earth would be soft. And the whole tunnel might not be blocked. At some point I might even find the spade!
For a few moments I was filled with hope. But the rope wouldn't yield and my attempts to struggle free seemed to be making it tighter. I remembered all those months ago, in spring, when I'd first become the Spook's apprentice. Bony Lizzie had bound me in a pit intending to kill
me and take my bones for her dark magic. I'd struggled then but hadn't been able to escape. It was Alice who had saved me, using a knife to cut me free. How I wished I could call out to Alice now! But I couldn't. I was alone and nobody even knew where I was.
After a while I stopped my frantic struggle to be free. I lay back and closed my eyes and tried to gather my strength for one final effort. It was then, as I lay perfectly still, my breathing almost back to normal, I suddenly thought of the pentacle candles. I could use the flame from one of them to burn through the rope that bound me! Why hadn't I thought of that before? I sat up quickly. I now had a real chance of getting myself free. But it was at that moment that I heard a noise from the direction of the blocked tunnel.
What could it be? Had the Spook found out after all and come to rescue me? But it didn't sound like a spade. It was more like a scratching noise, as if something were scrabbling in the fallen soil. Could it be a rat? The noise was getting louder. Could it be more than one? A pack of rats that lived deep under the barrow? It was said that rats would eat anything. There were even tales of rats snatching new-born babies from their cots. What if they'd smelled human flesh? Would they want to eat the pieces of Morgan's dead body? What next? Would they turn on me? Attack me while I was still alive?
The noise became louder. Something was burrowing along the blocked tunnel towards the chamber. Something was clawing its way through the earth. What could it be? I watched, fascinated but terrified, as a small hole appeared about halfway between the ceiling and the floor of the chamber and soil crumbled from it, falling onto the edge of the mosaic floor. I felt a draught that caused the candles to flicker. Two hands emerged but they weren't human. I saw elongated fingers and, instead of fingernails, ten curved talons that had burrowed through the soil into the chamber. So even before the head appeared, I knew exactly who it was.
Somehow the feral lamia had escaped from the Spook's cellar and had sniffed me out. Marcia Skelton had come for my blood.