Legends From the End of Time, Michael Moorcock [best motivational books of all time TXT] 📗

engineering? Doctor Volospion can't have … We must get you back to him, in case…"

"Oh, I feel the flesh fading. My substance…" His face had crumpled in pain. He lurched forward. A dry, retching noise came from a throat which had acquired the wrinkles of extreme old age. He fell to his knees. His skin began to crack. She tried to pull him to his feet.

"Lord Jagged!" cried Miss Ming. "Help me. He's ill. Oh, why should this happen to me? No-one can be ill at the End of Time. Do something with one of your rings. Draw strength from the city."

Lord Jagged had been watching, but he did not choose to move.

"Mother," gasped the creature on the floor. "My life-right…"

"He's dying! Help him, Lord Jagged! Save him!"

Lord Jagged seemed to be measuring his steps as he advanced slowly towards them. He stopped and looked without pity at Snuffles as he moved feebly in clothes too large for him. "They were completely symbiotic, then," mused Jagged. "See, Miss Ming — Dafnish Armatuce must be dead — killed somewhere on the megaflow — escaping from this world. Or was she driven from it? Dafnish Armatuce is dead — and that part of her which was her son — a shadow, as she said — dies, too. Snuffles was never an individual, as we understand it."

"It can't be. He's all I have left! Oh!" She leaned forward in horror, for the body was disintegrating rapidly, becoming fine, brown dust, leaving nothing but an empty suit of moleskin, velvet and brocade. The hose ceased to writhe with light; the dragon shoes scarcely hissed.

She looked up anxiously at the tall man. "But you can resurrect him, Lord Jagged."

"I am not sure I could. Besides, I see no reason to do so. There is little there to bring back to life. It is not Dafnish Armatuce. If it were, I would not hesitate. But her body burns somewhere between the end of one moment and the beginning of the next — and this, this is all we have of her now. Dying, she reclaims her son."

Miss Ming shuddered with frustration. She glared at Lord Jagged, hating him, tensed as if, physically, she might attack him. But she had no courage.

Lord Jagged pursed his lips, then drew a deep breath of the musty air. He left her in his Hall of Antiquities, returning to his mysterious labours.

Later, Miss Ming stood up and unclenched her hand. On her palm lay a little pile of brown dust. She put it in her pocket, for a keepsake.

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Document ID: 7aa3895c-3bad-40f7-81a1-3873a621d5d3

Document version: 2

Document creation date: 2006-01-11

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OCR Source: "Танелорн: Всё о Майкле Муркоке" http://www.moorcock.narod.ru/Document authors :

Nina (El)

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