The Stone of Farewell by Tad Williams Page A

made his way downslope alone in dreaming moonlight. Halfway back to the main trail he had to stop and sit, elbows on trembling knees. He knew that his exhaustion and even his fear would eventually recede, but he could imagine no cure for such loneliness.

    “I am truly sorry, Seoman, but there is nothing to be done. Last night Reniku, the star we call Summer-Lantern, appeared above the horizon at sundown. I have stayed too long. I can remain no longer.”
    Jiriki sat cross-legged atop a rock on the cave’s vast porch, staring down into the mist-carpeted valley. Unlike Simon and Haestan, he wore no heavy clothing. The wind plucked at the sleeves of his glossy shirt.
    “But what will we do about Binabik and Sludig?” Simon flung a stone into the depths, half-hoping it would wound some fog-hidden troll below. “They’ll be killed if you don’t do something!”
    “There is nothing I could do, in any circumstance,” Jiriki said quietly. “The Qanuc have a right to their justice. I cannot honorably interfere.” “Honor? Hang honor, Binabik won’t even speak! How can he defend himself?”
    The Sitha sighed, but his hawkish face remained impassive. “Perhaps there is no defense. Perhaps Binabik knows he has wronged his people.”
    Haestan snorted his disgust. “We dunna even know th’ little man’s crime.”
    “Oath-breaking, I am told,” Jiriki said mildly. He turned to Simon. “I must go, Seoman. The news of the Norn Queen’s Huntsman attacking the Zida‘ya has upset my people very much. They wish me home. There is much to discuss.” Jiriki brushed a strand of hair from his eye. “Also, when my kinsman An’nai died and was buried on Urmsheim, a responsibility fell upon me. His name must now be entered with full ceremony in the Book of Year-Dancing. I, of all my people, can least shirk that responsibility. It was, after all, Jiriki i-Sa‘onserei and no other who brought him to the place of his death—and it was much to do with me and my willfulness that he went.” The Sitha’s voice hardened as he clenched his brown fingers into a fist. “Do you not see? I cannot turn my back on An’nai’s sacrifice.”
    Simon was desperate. “I don’t know anything about your Dancing Book—but you said that we would be allowed to speak for Binabik! They told you so!”
    Jiriki cocked his head. “Yes. The Herder and Huntress so agreed.”
    “Well, how will we be able to do that if you are gone? We can’t speak the troll-tongue and they can’t understand ours.”
    Simon thought he saw a look of bewilderment flit briefly across the Sitha’s imperturbable face, but it passed so swiftly he was not sure. Jiriki’s flake-gold eyes caught and held his gaze. They stared at each other for long moments.
    “You are right, Seoman,” Jiriki said slowly. “Honor and heritage have pincered me before, but never quite so neatly.” He dropped his head down and stared at his hands, then slowly lifted his eyes to the gray sky. “An‘nai and my family must forgive me. J’asu pra-peroihin! The Book of Year-Dancing must then record my disgrace.” He took a deep breath. “I will stay while Binabik of Yiqanuc has his day at court.”
    Simon should have exulted, but instead felt only hollowness. Even to a mortal, the Sitha prince’s unhappiness was profoundly apparent: Jiriki was making some terrible sacrifice that Simon could not understand. But what else could be done? They were all caught here on this high rock beyond the known world, all prisoners—at least of circumstance. They were ignorant heroes, friends to oath-breakers ...
    A chill dashed up Simon’s backbone. “Jiriki!” he gasped, waving his hands as if to clear a way for the sudden inspiration.
    Would it work? Even if it did, would it help?
    “Jiriki,” he said again, more quietly this time, “I believe I have thought of something that will let you do what you need to and help Binabik and Sludig, too.”
    Haestan, hearing the tightness in Simon’s voice,