The Stone of Farewell (20 page)

The rest of the troll's companions had stopped, huddled before the cave like a herd of wind-rattled sheep. Sedda, the moon, had at last vanished in the west behind Sikkihoq, but the night was suddenly full of light.

A large troop of trolls was moving toward them. Faces grim in their hoods, spears and firebrands in their hands, they had fanned out around Ookequk's cave and now held the path on both sides. Even in force, the trolls were so quiet that Simon could hear the burning hiss of their torches before the sound of a single footfall reached him.

“Chukku's Stones,” Binabik said bleakly. Sisqi dropped back to take his arm, her eyes wide in the torchlight, her mouth set in a grim line.

 

Uammannaq the Herder and Nunuuika the Huntress guided their rams forward. They both wore belted robes and boots. Their black hair flowed loose, as though they had dressed hurriedly. As Binabik stepped forward to meet them, armed trolls moved in behind him, hemming his companions in a thicket of spears. Sisqinanamook stepped out of the encirclement to join him, standing at his side with her chin lifted defiantly. Uammannaq avoided his daughter's eyes, staring down instead at Binabik.

“So, Binbinaqegabenik,” he said, “you will not stand and face the justice of your people? I had thought more of you than that, however low your
birth.”

“My friends are innocent,”
Binabik replied.
“I held your daughter as hostage until the Rimmersman Sludig had made it to safety with the others.”

Nunuuika rode forward until her mount stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband's.
“Please credit us with some wisdom, Binabik, even though we are not either of us as clever as your master was. Who sent the guards away?”
She peered down at Sisqi. The Huntress' face was cold, but showed a trace of harsh pride.
“Daughter, I thought you were a fool when you determined to marry this wizardling. Now—well, I will say at least that you are a loyal fool,” She turned to Binabik. “Because you have recharmed my daughter, do not think you will escape your sentence. The Ice House is unmelted. Winter has killed the Spring. The Rite of Quickening went unperformed—and instead you return to us with childish tales. Now you are back hatching devil-tricks in your master's cave that your pet wolf has guarded for you.”
Nunuuika was in the grip of a rising fury.
“You have been judged, oath-breaker. You will go to the ice cliffs of Ogohak Chasm and you will be thrown over!”

“Daughter, go back to our
home,” Uammannaq growled.
“You have done great wrong.
”

“No!”
Sisqi's cry caused a stir among the watching trolls.
“I have listened to my heart, yes, but listened to what wisdom I have gained as well. The wolf has kept us from Ookequk's house—but that has not been to Binbiniqegabenik's benefit.”
She pulled the thong-tied scroll from Binabik's sleeves and thrust it forward.
“This I found there. None of us thought to see what Ookequk had left behind.”

“Only a fool hurries to rummage in the effects of a Singing Man,”
Uammannaq said, but his expression had subtly changed.

“But
Sisqi,”
Binabik said, nonplussed,
“we do not know what the scroll contains! It could be
a
spell of great peril, or
...”

“I have a good idea,”
Sisqi said grimly.
“Do you see whose knot this is?”
she asked, handing the scroll to her mother.

The Huntress looked at it briefly and made a dismissive gesture as she handed it to her husband.
“It is Ookequk's knot, yes
...”

“And you know what kind of knot as well, Mother,”
Sisqi turned to her father.
“Has it been opened?”

Uammannaq frowned. “No ...”

“
Now
?”

Sisqi's breath hung in the air after her angry rejoinder. Uammannaq carefully picked the knot and removed the black thong, then slowly unrolled the sheet of hide, beckoning for one of the torch-bearers to move nearer.

“Binabik,” Simon shouted from behind a circle of spear-heads, “what is happening?”

“Stay, all of you, and do nothing for a moment,” Binabik called to him in Westerling. “I will tell you all when I can.”

“Know this,”
Uammannaq read,

 

The Herder read slowly, with long, squint-eyed pauses as he puzzled out the sense of the blackened runes.

 

“Clever, clever, Sisqi,
Binabik said quietly as her father's voice droned,
”it is you who should have been Ookequk's student, not me! How could you know!?”

She waved a hand to quiet him.
“I am a daughter of Chidsik ub Lingit, where all the petitions for judgment come from all the mountains. Do you think I would not recognize the knot used on a death testament?”

Uammannaq continued with Ookequk's words,

As the Herder read these words, several of the listening trolls cried out, hoarse voices echoing down the night-shrouded mountainside. Others swayed, so that the torchlight flickered.

Uammannaq lowered the scroll, blinking. A low wail bubbled up among the watchers in response to the Singing Man Ookekuq's final song.

“He did not have enough time,” Binabik murmured. Tears welled in his eyes. “He was taken away too quickly and told me nothing—or at least not enough. Oh, Ookequk, how we will miss you! How could you have left your people with no wall between them and the Storm King but an untrained weanling like Binabik!”
He dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the snow.

An awkward silence fell, pierced only by the lamenting wind.

“Bring the lowlanders,”
Nunuuika said to the spearmen, then turned a stiff, painful glance on her daughter.
“We will all go to the House of the Ancestor. There is much to think about.”

Simon awakened slowly, and stared at the inconstant shadows on the craggy ceiling of Chidsik ub Lingit for a long time while he tried to remember where he was. He felt a little better now, more clearheaded, but the scar on his cheek stung like fire.

He sat up. Sludig and Haestan were leaning against the wall a short distance away, sharing a skin of some drink and a muttered conversation. Simon untangled himself from his cloak and looked around for Binabik. His friend was near the center of the room, squatting before the Herder and Huntress as if in supplication. For a moment Simon was fearful, but others squatted there too, Sisqinanamook among them. As he listened to the rise and fall of guttural voices, he decided it seemed more a council than a judgment. Other small groups of trolls were discernible here and there in the deep shadows, crouched in little circles throughout the vast stone room. A few scattered lamps burned like bright stars in a sky full of thunderheads.

Simon curled up again, wriggling to find a smooth place on the floor. How terribly strange, to be in this place! Would he ever have a home again, a place where he would wake up every morning in the same bed, unsurprised to find himself there?

He drifted slowly back into half-sleep, into a dream of cold mountain passes and red eyes.

 

“Simon-friend!” It was Binabik, gently shaking him. The troll looked drawn, the circles under his eyes visible even in the half-light, but he was smiling. “It is time for waking.”

“Binabik,” Simon said groggily, “what is happening?”

“I have brought for you a bowl of tea and some tidings. It appears I am no longer bound for an unfortunate plunging,” the troll grinned. “No longer are Sludig and myself to be thrown into Ogohak Chasm.”

“But that's wonderful!” Simon gasped. He felt his heart ache inside him, a fierce wrench of released tension. He leaped to embrace the small man and his sudden lunge toppled the troll. The tea puddled on the stone.

“You have been too long in the company of Qantaqa,” Binabik laughed, extricating himself. He looked pleased. “You have gained her liking for the giving of exuberant greetings.”

Other heads in the room turned to watch this strange spectacle. Many Qanuc tongues muttered in amazement at the mad and lanky lowlander who hugged trolls as if he were a clansman. Simon saw the stares and ducked his head in embarrassment. “What have they said?” he asked. “Can we go?”

“Put with simpleness: yes, we can go.” Binabik sat down beside him. He was carrying his bone walking stick, recovered from Ookequk's cave. He proceeded to examine it as he spoke, frowning at the numerous toothmarks Qantaqa had added. “But much there is to be decided. Ookequk's scroll has convinced the Herder and Huntress on the truth of my tellings.”

“But what is there to decide?”

“Many things. If I go with you to take Thorn back to Josua, then my people are again without a Singing Man. But I am thinking I must accompany you. If Naglimund has fallen truly, then we should be following the words of Geloë. She may be the last one of great wisdom that remains. Besides, it is seeming more certain that our only hope is in the getting of the other two swords, Minneyar and Sorrow. Not for nothing should your gallantry on the dragon-mountain be.”

Binabik gestured at Thorn, which stood against the wall near where Haestan and Sludig sat. “If the Storm King's rising is unchecked,” he said, “then no use there will be my staying on Mintahoq, since none of the craft Ookequk taught me will keep away the winter we fear.” The little man made a broad gesture. “So, ‘when the snowslide takes your house,' as we troll folk say, ‘do not stay to hunt for potshards.' I have told my people they should be moving down-mountain, to the spring hunting grounds—even though there will be no spring there, and small hunting.”

He stood, tugging down the hem of his thick jacket. “I wanted you to know that there was no danger now to Sludig and myself.” He smirked. “A bad joke. We are all, it is obvious, in terrible danger. But the danger is not from my own people any longer.” He laid a small hand on Simon's shoulder. “Sleep again, if you can. We will likely leave at dawn. I will go and speak to Haestan and Sludig, then there is much planning still ahead this night.” He turned and walked across the cave. Simon watched his small form pass in and out of the shadows.

He thought about this as he waited for sleep.