The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  For there, at the very center of the floor, constructed from black stones, were three concentric circles and, within them, a five-pointed star. I knew immediately what it was, and my worst fear was confirmed.

  This was a pentacle, a device used by a mage from which to cast spells or summon daemons from the dark. But this had been constructed by the first men who came to Anglezarke in order to summon Golgoth, the most powerful of the old gods. And now Morgan was going to use it.

  It seemed that Morgan knew exactly what he intended to do, and he soon set me to work, ordering me to clean the floor until it gleamed, particularly the central section of the mosaic that depicted the pentacle.

  “There mustn’t be even one tiny speck of dirt, or it could all go wrong!” he said.

  I didn’t bother to ask what he meant, because I’d worked it out already. He intended to follow the deadliest ritual in the grimoire. He was going to summon Golgoth while we stayed protected at its center. Cleanliness was vital, because dirt could be used to cross its defenses.

  There were several large tubs at the far side of the chamber, and one of them contained salt. In the sack I’d carried, among the other items, including the grimoire, were a large flagon of water and some cloths. Using a damp cloth, I had to scour the mosaic with salt, then swill it clean until he was satisfied.

  I seemed to be at it for hours. From time to time I glanced about, trying to see if there was anything in the chamber that might prove useful in helping me to overcome Morgan and escape. He must have dropped the spade in the passageway because there was no sign of it in the chamber; neither was there anything else that I could use as a weapon. I did notice a large iron ring set into the wall, close to the floor, and I wondered what it could be for. It looked like something for tethering an animal.

  When I’d finished scouring the floor, to my horror, Morgan suddenly seized me, dragged me to the wall, bound my hands tightly behind my back, and fastened the remainder of the rope to the ring. Then he began his preparations in earnest. I was sick to my stomach as I suddenly realized what was going to happen. Morgan would work from within the pentacle, shielded from anything that appeared within the chamber, whereas I would remain tethered to that ring on the wall without any defense whatsoever. Was I going to be some sort of sacrifice? Was that what the ring had originally been made for? Then I remembered what the Spook had said about the farm dog. When Morgan had tried the ritual in his room, it had died of fright. . . .

  From the sack he produced five thick black candles and positioned one of these at the very tip of each of the points of the pentacle star. He then opened the grimoire, and as he lit each candle, he read out a short incantation from the book. That done, he sat down cross-legged at the very center of the pentacle and, holding the book open, looked directly toward me.

  “Do you know what day it is?” he demanded.

  “It’s a Tuesday,” I answered.

  “And the date?”

  I didn’t speak, and he answered for me.

  “It’s the twenty-first of December. The winter solstice. The exact middle of the winter before the days gradually start to lengthen again. So it’s going to be a long night. The longest night of the whole year. And when it’s over, only one of us will leave this chamber,” Morgan said. “My intention is to raise Golgoth, the most powerful of the old gods. And I’m going to do it here, in the very place where it was done by the ancients. This barrow is built at a point of great power where leys converge. Five, no less, intersect at the very center of the pentacle where I’m sitting.”

  “Won’t it be dangerous to wake Golgoth?” I asked. “The winter might last for years.”

  “What if it does?” Morgan asked. “Winter is my time.”

  “But crops won’t grow. People will starve!”

  “What of it? The weak always die,” said Morgan. “The strong inherit the earth. The summoning ritual will give Golgoth no choice but to obey. And he’ll be bound here, within this chamber, until I release him. Bound until he gives me what I want.”

  “What do you want?” I asked. “What can possibly make it worth hurting so many people?”

  “I want power! What else makes life worthwhile? The power that Golgoth will give me. The ability to freeze the blood within a man’s veins. To kill with a glance. All men will fear me. And in the depths of a long cold winter, when I kill, who will know that I’ve taken a life? And who will be able to prove it? John Gregory will be the second to die, but not the last. And you’ll die before him.” Morgan laughed softly. “You’re part of the bait. Part of the lure to draw Golgoth here. I had to make do with a dog last time, but a human being is so much better. Golgoth will take the little spark of life from your body and add it to his own. Your soul, too. Your body and soul will both be snuffed out in an instant.”

  “Are you really sure that pentacle will protect you?” I asked, trying not to think about what he’d said, attempting to place a bit of doubt in his mind. “Rituals have to be exact. If you leave something out or mispronounce even one word, it might not work. In that case, neither of us will ever leave this chamber. We’ll both be destroyed.”

  “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, singsong 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 my hands 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 gray 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 drafts 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 farther up the shore. 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 like hours of Morgan chanting from the grimoire, he finally achieved what he’d set out to do.

  Golgoth obeyed the summons.

  CHAPTER XX

  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 toward 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 defenses? 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 gray-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, toward 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 outward. To my dismay, the tunnel was now totally blocked. Whatever happened now, I’d be trapped down here forever.

  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 toward 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 toward me.

  I sensed Golgoth’s desperation to escape. Once beyond the pentacle, 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.
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br />   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 blessed 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.”