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.