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.
Golgoth
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 whirling 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.
The Trap
The feral lamia eased her body out of the hole and scuttled down onto the mosaic floor. I heard her sniff twice but she wasn't looking at me. Scurrying on all fours with her head down and her long greasy black hair trailing on the floor, she moved towards the edge of the pentacle, her claws making a sharp scratching noise on the marble. She halted and I heard her sniff again loudly as she looked towards what was left of Morgan.
I kept very still, hardly able to believe that she hadn't attacked me already. Morgan had only just died but I'd have thought she'd prefer fresh blood from a living person. And then I heard another noise from the tunnel. Something else was approaching ...
Once more a pair of hands appeared but these had human fingers with fingernails rather than sharp claws. As the head came into view, one glance told me who it was. I saw the high cheekbones, the pretty bright eyes and the silver-grey hair. It was Meg.
She clambered out, dusted herself off and walked straight towards me. She must have left her pointy shoes outside but the pad of her bare feet as she approached was terrifying. No wonder the feral lamia had kept her distance. Meg wanted me all to herself, and after all that had happened, I could expect no mercy.
She knelt down within touching distance and her lips widened in a grim smile. 'You're just a heartbeat away from death,' Meg said, leaning closer and opening her mouth wide until I could see her white teeth, eager to bite me. I felt her breath on my face and neck and began to tremble. But then she bent low and, to my astonishment, bit right through the rope that was binding my hands.
'Few humans have been this close to a lamia witch and lived,' she said, before rising to her feet. 'Count yourself lucky!'
I just sat there, staring up at her open-mouthed. I felt too weak to move.
'Get up, boy!' she commanded. 'We haven't got all night. John Gregory's waiting for you. He'll want to know what's been going on down here.'
I clambered to my feet unsteadily and stood there for a few moments, feeling weak and nauseous, fearing that I was about to fall. Why should she help me? What had happened between the Spook and Meg? He'd been taking food down to her. They'd been having long talks. Was she doing it because the Spook had asked her to? Were they friends again?
'Go and get the grimoire,' Meg said, pointing towards the pentacle. T can't enter that circle and neither can Marcia ...'
I took a step towards the pentacle but stopped when I saw the book. It was lying in a pool of blood. I couldn't bear to touch it and it would be ruined anyway. Then I caught a glimpse of Morgan's remains and my stomach heaved. I bowed my head, trying to blot the image out of my mind. I didn't want to see him again in a nightmare.
'Do as I say, get the grimoire!' Meg commanded, raising her voice slightly. 'John Gregory won't thank you for leaving it here for someone else to find one day'
I did as I was told and stepped into the pentacle. I reached down and picked up the book. It was wet and sticky with blood. I could smell it and my stomach twisted and heaved again. I fought h
ard not to vomit and left the pentacle, picking up the nearest of the candles. I didn't like the idea of climbing back through a dark tunnel in the company of two lamia witches.
Taking the candle had probably broken the power of the pentacle and I thought that Marcia would have entered it to feed. But after briefly sniffing towards the body she turned away. Meg led the way with Marcia somewhere behind me. I just hoped she wasn't too close on my heels.
We emerged into the pale pre-dawn light. The blizzard had blown itself out but it was still snowing lightly. The Spook was waiting just outside the entrance and he reached down, offering me his hand. I let the black candle fall into the snow and gripped his left hand with mine; he pulled me up onto my feet. Immediately afterwards the feral lamia followed me out, scrambling up onto the snow.
I opened my mouth to speak but my master put a finger against his lips to signal silence. 'All in good time. You can tell me later,' he said. 'Is Morgan dead?'
I nodded and bowed my head.
'Well, this can be his tomb,' said the Spook.
With those words he moved across and gripped the edge of the stone, manoeuvring it into position. He balanced it on the edge of the hole, and when he was satisfied, let it drop back into place. That done, he went down onto his knees and, using his bare hands, began to cover the stone with loose earth and snow. At last, satisfied, he came to his feet.
'Give me the book, lad,' the Spook commanded.
I held it out to him, glad to be rid of it. The Spook lifted it up and glanced at the cover. When he transferred it to his other hand, bloodstains remained on his fingers. With a sad, weary shake of his head he led the way down off the heights of the moor and back towards his winter house. And each time I glanced back over my shoulder I could see that the two lamia witches were following close behind.
Spook's Secret wc-3 Page 21