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datatime: 2022-10-03 10:10:55 Author:yJlLGGlo

But the Queen's son died an infant, died, he-

'Boy'

The cry was low, gargling, full of water.

Morgan started forward, his face swimming and rippling as if made of limp plastic, and Jack had time to see there was something clutched in his hand, something hung around his neck, something small and silvery.

He could feel the force of that command, gripping his face with invisible hands, trying to turn it.

He's found me, oh dear God, he's found me.

That's it, Jack thought despairingly. That's it, he's gone, must be, let him go, get out of here-

'Wolf' Jack screamed, but thunder exploded across the blue sky again, drowning him out.

Jack whirled clumsily around in the stream, barely avoiding another cow-sheep, this one floating on its side, dead in the water. He saw Wolf's head going down again, both hands waving. Jack fought his way toward those hands, still dodging the cattle as best he could. One of them bunted his hip hard and Jack went over, inhaling water. He got up again quick, coughing and choking, one hand feeling inside his jerkin for the bottle, afraid it might have washed away. It was still there.

'Jason' Morgan of Orris screamed, and Jack realized that Morgan was not cursing in the Territories argot; he was calling his, Jack's, name. Only here he was not Jack. Here he was Jason.

Jack whirled clumsily around in the stream, barely avoiding another cow-sheep, this one floating on its side, dead in the water. He saw Wolf's head going down again, both hands waving. Jack fought his way toward those hands, still dodging the cattle as best he could. One of them bunted his hip hard and Jack went over, inhaling water. He got up again quick, coughing and choking, one hand feeling inside his jerkin for the bottle, afraid it might have washed away. It was still there.

And the small silver thing in his hand had turned to a small rod tipped with crawling blue fire.

But he struggled on toward Wolf, pushing a dying, weakly convulsing cow-sheep out of his way to get there.

'Boy'

'Boy'

Morgan Sloat's suede boots became dark leather knee-boots, their tops turned down, what might have been the hilt of a knife poking out of one.

The cry was low, gargling, full of water.

'There you are, you little shithead' Morgan bellowed at him. His voice carried, but it had a muffled, dead quality as it came from the reality of that world into the reality of this one. It was like listening to a man shout inside a telephone booth. 'Now we'll see, won't we? Won't we?'

And the small silver thing in his hand had turned to a small rod tipped with crawling blue fire.

'Boy'

He stood at midstream in water that was crotch-deep, cattle passing on either side of him, baa-ing and bleating, staring at that window which had been torn in the very fabric of reality, his eyes wide, his mouth wider.

That's it, Jack thought despairingly. That's it, he's gone, must be, let him go, get out of here-

And the small silver thing in his hand had turned to a small rod tipped with crawling blue fire.

It's a lightning-rod. Oh Jesus, it's a-

That's it, Jack thought despairingly. That's it, he's gone, must be, let him go, get out of here-

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