'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, 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?