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.Its yellowed ivory was inscribed with symbols which Salmson couldn't translate and with tableaux which were all too clear.No turning back."Abriaon orthiare," Salmson chanted, dipping the athame's point at each syllable.He hadn't scratched a figure on the altar as he normally would've done, but he thought he saw a pentagram glowing in the heart of the opaque stone."Lampho!"Wizardlight as blue as the heart of a glacier quivered along the edge of the alcove; it spluttered every hands-breadth as if igniting blobs of sealing wax.Only when it had described the whole rectangular course did the cold glare fade away."There!" Salmson cried."Archas, get the shackle that I've freed.By Hili, man, don't lose it or you'll never control the—Hell blast you, I'll do it!"The priest scrambled around the end of the altar, tripping on tree roots because his eyes were focused on the wall from which a quiver of gold was drifting.He thrust his hand out against the stone and to his relief felt the ghostly caress of the gossamer which had held the portal closed beyond the strength of even a God to open.Carefully, he began to wind the fetter onto a tourmaline miniature of Fallin of the Waves."What is it?" said the pirate chieftain.He'd stepped back when Salmson shouted at him, his sword raised against whatever might be coming from the tomb.Now he approached again, keeping the blade slanted across his body with the edge outward."Is it a hair? It looks like blond hair!""It's a hair," Salmson said slowly as he coiled the wisp of gold on the finger-long tourmaline statue of Franca's sibling."It's supposed to be a hair of the Lady Herself."Salmson knew everyone's attention was on him.There were forty-odd pirates; two had died during the march, one in a fight too disorganized to be called a duel and the other screaming at the demons he'd swilled with his wine.The twenty ratmen groomed themselves as they waited.Though they didn't wear armor for this expedition, the jungle's mold and moisture had caused their harnesses to chafe.They licked the sores in their coarse fur methodically."A god's hair?" said Archas."That's impossible!"He glowered, then added, "And anyway, didn't you say the gods were dead? The Lady and the Shepherd and the Sister, all three?"Nearly a hundred human captives had survived the march, but they were too cowed even to run away.They watched with the dumb apathy of sheep at the gate of the abattoir.The black rooster trussed to a handle of Salmson's casket watched him with furious black eyes, though.Unlike the human prisoners, it hadn't given up.Slavery is a state of mind, thought Salmson.But we are all slaves of Franca.Even the cockerel."I said," Salmson said as he finished coiling the impossibly long strand of hair, "that since the Change this world is without gods.As for what the hair is—perhaps you know best.But I warn you, captain, when I turn this over to you—"He raised the talisman to call attention to it.The filament was so clear that Fallin's carved features could be glimpsed in the pale green stone."—don't lose it.Without it you won't be able to control the Worm.No one will be able to control the Worm."Salmson's lips smiled, though fear froze his mind for an instant at the thought behind his words.No turning back."But no matter," he said, walking back around the altar.He placed the talisman on the ledge among the other implements and raised the athame again."Bring me the cockerel."A ratman lifted the rooster.Instead of cutting the cord, he teased the knot open with delicate claws before handing the sacrifice to Salmson.The priest held the cockerel to the center of the altar stone with his left hand.It wriggled and tried to peck him, so he shifted his grip slightly.Salmson had noticed birds all the way from the seaway to here.They'd clattered and called in the foliage even when they couldn't be seen, but generally he'd seen them.Since he'd spoken the incantation to unshackle the portal of the Worm, the forest had been silent.He sighed, took a deep breath, and intoned solemnly, "Barbathi lameer lamphore."This wasn't as trying as the previous incantation.All he was doing this time was loosing the power of Franca.It was like lifting the trigger bar of a loaded catapult, childishly easy though it released a ball that could smash a gate or the hull of a ship."Anoch anoch iao!" Salmson said.He stabbed the rooster with his athame.The edge of the ivory knife wasn't keen enough to slice flesh, but its point could split a bird's chest.Blood followed as he withdrew the blade, splashing the stone and his arm to the elbow.For a moment there was nothing but the thick smell of violent death.Then the rooster's blood began to steam from the altar, swelling into a misty figure the height of the sky.It didn't exist in the same world as Salmson and the jungle, but it was nevertheless visible.The figure bent to grip the stone door slab.There was no single scale of sizes in what Salmson saw; though he closed his eyes in sudden terror, the figure remained.Lightning flashed within its dim outlines, but the portal remained shut."Bring me a prisoner!" Salmson said [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]