Madbond by Nancy Springer Page B

stood, a prisoner, and I met her gaze steadily, though it was a hard thing to do—her black eyes glittered with hatred.
    â€œAnd with my own hand I will take it,” she said softly, far too softly, “and at my sweet leisure.”
    It did not comfort me any that a woman would have the killing of me. In my tribe, as in the Otter, women ride to war alongside the men, and I knew how women, though not as strongly thewed as men, could be relentless when men gave in.
    Istas pulled out the thong that laced her sealskin boots, came to me and tied my hands behind me, pulling the knots hard and tight. This was to dishonor me, saying, in effect, that I was a coward who would run away were I given the chance. Spiteful old woman. She slit my boots with her stone knife and stripped me of them and my clothing, then and there—she, flinty old beldam, there was no modesty left in her. Then she herself elbowed me up the headland, with half the Kindred trailing along to watch, and sent me crashing down into the prison pit.
    There I stayed the rest of the day and the night, and not even Kor was allowed to bring food to me.
    Or perhaps he could not bear to come.
    No one came near me. The waiting was to make me miserable, I knew, and to give Istas time to smack her lips and make her plans. Strangely, I was not as miserable as she would have liked. Though the night was cold and I had no covering, though my arms ached and Istas’s thongs bit into my wrists until my hands were numb, still I slept deeply and soundly, without a dream. It was quite settled that I was going to die, so of what use was dreaming?
    Therefore, I was strong and steadfast when she came for me in the morning, and I had made up my mind not to speak to her lest folk should construe it as pleading, but to go out with honor.
    There was a problem for Istas and her followers—I found it very nearly laughable. I could not climb the notched pole with my hands tied behind me, so they had no way of getting me out of the pit without approaching me, and they were afraid. Also, there must have been some shame in them, for they would not send for Kor. They sent for Birc, finally, and he climbed down the pole, came over to me and cut the thongs. My wrists were so swollen by then that he sliced my skin in doing it, and I noticed that he would not meet my eyes. I centered myself and climbed up the ladder on my own. Istas did not attempt to bind me again—they were all afraid to touch me. So of my own accord I followed her to the great lodge, and no one afterward could deny it.
    Most of the tribe was there, pressed back against the walls, leaving a sort of clearing, an arena, under the reed-thatched roof. But I saw no children there, and I was glad of it. These were at their centers a gentle folk. I hoped Kor would not be there either, but he was, awaiting us at a place before the hearth that was marked with red ocher spilled on the ground. After a moment I understood. It was the place where Rowalt had fallen. I had been brought there for my doom.
    Like a puppy, I thought. Taken back to have my nose rubbed in my misdeed. Nothing seemed very real, and the thought made me smile. Kor saw the smile, but I think he could not bring himself to answer it. He looked ashen, as if he himself were to undergo a slow execution, and I could tell nothing from his eyes when I stopped before him.
    â€œDan,” he said to me, but loudly enough so that the others could hear, “I tell you again, there is no need for this.”
    I did not answer. Madman and murderer though I might be, I yet had my pride, and if I had done wrong I would pay with my own blood. I met his gaze and did not speak. For the sake of my honor I had decided to be a mute, so that I would not cry out. Though more willful, it ought to be no harder than forgetting my own name.…
    Korridun sighed and stepped back, yielding me up to Istas. There was a breath and a murmur from the waiting crowd, then utter