The Stone of Farewell by Tad Williams Page B

He did not translate his last speech, but sadly turned back to her mother and father.
    “And what,” Nunuuika asked scornfully, “might you have had to decide about? What choice could have turned you into an oath-breaker-you, who had already climbed far beyond the snows to which you were accustomed, whose betrothal-spear had been chosen by one high above you?”
    “My master Ookequk made a promise to Doctor Morgenes of the Hayholt, a very wise man of Erkynland. With my master dead, I felt it was my place to keep his promise.”
    Uammannaq leaned forward, his beard wagging with surprise and anger. “You thought a promise to a lowlander more important than wedding a child of the House of the Ancestor—or the bringing of summer? Truly, Binabik, those who said you had learned madness at fat Ookequk’s knee were right! You turned your back on your people for ... for Utku?”
    Binabik shook his head helplessly. “It was more than that, Uammannaq, Herder of the Qanuc. My master had fears of grave danger, not just to Yiqanuc but to all the world below the mountains as well. Ookequk feared a winter coming far worse than any we have experienced, one that would leave the Ice House hard-frozen for a thousand black years. And it was far more than only evil weather that Ookequk foresaw. Morgenes, the old man in Erkynland, shared his fears. It was because of these dangers that the promise seemed important. Because of this, too—because I believe my master’s worries are justified—I would again break my oath if I had no other choice.”
    Sisqinanamook had returned her gaze to Binabik once more. Simon hoped to see a softening of her expression, but her mouth was still clenched in a firm, bitter line. Her mother Nunuuika slapped a palm on the butt of her spear.
    “This is no argument at all!” the Huntress exclaimed. “Not at all. If I feared loose snow in the upper passes, should I then never leave my cave, letting my children starve? This is as much as saying that your people and the mountain home that gave you nurture mean nothing to you. You are worse than a drunkard, who at least says ‘I should not drink,’ but falls again into bad ways by weakness. You stand before us, bold as a robber of others’ saddlebags, and say: ‘I will do it again. My oath means nothing.’ ” She shook her spear in rage. The gathered assembly hissed its agreement. “You should be put to death immediately. If your madness infects others, the wind will howl in our empty caves before a generation passes. ”
    Even as Binabik finished his dull rendering of this last, Simon stood up, shaking with anger. His face ached where the scar had been burned across his cheek, and every throb brought back the memory of Binabik clinging to the frost-worm’s back, shouting for Simon to run, to save himself while the troll fought on alone.
    “No!” Simon cried furiously, surprising even Haestan and Sludig, who had been listening dumbfoundedly to every strange detail of the exchange. “No!” Simon steadied himself with his stool. His head was whirling. Binabik, dutifully, turned to his masters and his betrothed and began explaining the red-haired lowlander’s words.
    “You don’t understand what is happening,” Simon began, “or what Binabik has done. Here in these mountains, the world is far away—but there is danger that can reach you. In the castle where I lived once, it seemed to me that evil was only something talked about by the priests, and that even they did not truly believe in it. Now I know better. There are dangers all around us and they are growing stronger every day! Don’t you see? Binabik and I have been chased, chased by this evil all through the great forest and across the snows below these mountains. It followed us even to the dragon-mountain!”
    Simon stopped for a moment, dizzied, breathing swiftly. He felt as though he held some squirming thing that was wriggling out of his grip.
    What can I say? I must sound like a madman.