Morco patiently waited for as long as it took.
Krull swayed once he was on his feet, half of his face burned so badly, he was unrecognizable.
I knew a medicinal herb that could help with the burns, but I would never help him.
Morco stared him down with the same look of rage he’d worn when he’d thrown him into the fire. “You tried to take a partner without consent. You tried to take a woman against her will. You betrayed the men and women of this tribe with your disrespect. I would grant you death if the suffering weren’t so brief. So, I exile you to the darkness, to survive in solitude until the coyotes eat your flesh or the sciwards rip you apart limb by limb or the Knives cut your eyes out of your face.”
Krull did his best to appear indifferent to Morco’s words, but he seemed too preoccupied with the pain that burned all over his skin. “Mercy…”
Morco’s entire body stilled, like he needed a moment to understand the request. His eyes widened in offense like Krull had slapped him.
“I’ve—I’ve served our tribe.” His voice broke in places, like it took all his effort to produce words. “I’ve hunted—hunted for meat. I’ve fought and shed my blood. I—I ask for mercy?—”
“And you shall receive none.” Morco’s eyes widened like he wanted to throw Krull on the fire again.
“Kill me,” Krull said. “That’s all I ask?—”
“Do it yourself.” Morco threw his dagger in the dirt at his feet, where it stuck up from the ground. “Leave. Return, and you’ll return to the flames to burn whatever flesh you have left.” He nodded to the men who waited for Morco’s directive.
They circled Krull and grabbed him by the arms.
Krull snarled as he stared down Morco, and he gave a wince when he was touched. “After everything I’ve done for this tribe, you feed me to the wolves.”
“After all the warnings I gave, you still crossed me. That was mercy, Krull. It’s not my fault you were too stupid to see it.”
One of the guys took the dagger from the dirt, and they escorted Krull from the Gathering. They forced him down the path, his pained moans and grunts audible as they disappeared deeper into the trees.
And then it was silent.
Everyone stood still like they had just witnessed a funeral for a man who had yet to die.
Morco stared at the path for a long time, as if he expected Krull to escape the men’s hold and run back. He listened and waited, the eyes of his tribe focused on him. Without declaration or explanation, he turned from the bonfire in the center and walked off, his muscled back rigid in tension, the invisible weight bringing him down to the earth.
16
HANNE
The next few days were quiet.
A shadow darker than the blackness passed overhead. It dimmed the light of the bonfire. Destroyed the hope that had grown in the tribe the last few weeks. Bows were constructed in the Gathering, the garden was attended to, and Caius and the others remained on their hunt.
I slept beside Morco in his bed every night, but it wasn’t the fantasy I’d imagined. He held me close and cupped my cheek, gave me affection that was always superficial rather than passionate. He was always fully clothed and bathed only when I left the cabin. He seemed as disturbed by what had happened as I’d been.
After a few days, I’d moved on from it, and he didn’t.
He remained in a sour mood, carving the wood of the bows like meat off a bone, eyes always dark and possessed by a quiet rage that had infected his soul. He barely said a few words to me. His anger didn’t seem directed at me specifically.
He was just angry.
I stood across from him at the table in the Gathering, the bonfire behind him.
His eyes were down on his work, always focused on his hands.
“Morco.”
He stilled at the way I said his name, and I watched his hand grip the knife for a moment before he lifted his chin and looked at me.
When my eyes met his, I gripped them tightly and refused to release him. “I’m okay.”
