Curse of the Crimson Queen

Chapter 2. Unlikely Companions

'I often wonder,' Mjel murmured 'that I may be favoured by the gods, you know.'

Ida lifted her head in curiosity.

'After all, only half our scouts got torn apart.'

Heavy silence fell upon the tent. The sound of crackling flames in the firepit felt too loud, too harsh.

'It's not—'

'Don't even start on whose fault it is,' Mjel cut in before Ida could finish the sentence. 'I'm aware it's mine and lies won't make them come back.'

They sat by the fire, cloaked in furs and hides. Mjel ran her fingers through her unbound hair, then leant back, resting her head against one of the wooden poles of their tent.

'We could abandon the beach, come the morn.' Ida was quiet, hesitant. 'We could make haste inward, camping only at the top of the hills. Quickly search for a village or town. They must have some kind of roads or paths here, right...?'

Mjel was not paying attention at all.

'One Gods-fucked day,' she stared into the flames, 'and I've already lost seven of my people. Our people. I wonder how many Snowdogs are to survive this hellborn place.' Her gaze met Ida's eyes. 'Could it really be? Punishment?'

Ida remained silent, though her face seemed to tremble, her eyes begging for forgiveness. For not being able to provide an answer or for her soul lost beyond redemption, Mjel would never know.

The young woman closed her eyes. They were in an unfamiliar place. Unfamiliar vegetation, unfamiliar sea, and unfamiliar creatures surrounded them.

They spent a whole day on the shore after she and Ida saw that mountain erupt. That same evening, they gathered half their scattered scouts, and gave up searching after dawn broke. The next day, she set out with the scouts again. This time, they did find the missing patrols – torn, disembowelled, with hellhounds gnawing on their remains.

Maybe her uncle was right. She is simply not worthy of being Warchief of the clan. She seriously considered setting sails. But the aftermath of that and what could play out when they return to Velardhar scared the shit out of her.

A kid stormed into the tent, leaving the canvas walls flapping in his wake.

'Lady Warchief!' he gasped. 'Hurry, it's—'

'I've told you a thousand times I'm not a Warchief, Harak,' Mjel rose. 'And I'm definitely no Lady.'

'Yes, ma'am, I understand—'

'No, you don't.' Mjel shook her head. 'Chief is all right. Now, come on, cousin. What's happened? Why are you here? You shall be sleeping.'

'Well, I'll be twelve this winter, so I'm old enough to—'

'Harak.'

'Yes, sorry.' The kid dabbed his face with his palm. 'There's a man outside. The boys told me to run for you. This one looks na... na...'

'Native?' helped Ida. She already began to dress.

'Yes!'

Mjel put on a linen shirt, took up a coat made of the fur of a bearling, and tied a headband onto her. 'Why were you awake at all? And with the others?'

'I... couldn't sleep, really.' The kid visibly became embarrassed. His leg started kicking at the ground. 'And you know, the boys are always cheerful when they drink... and play. So, I joined them.'

'We'll talk about this later. Lead on.'

Harak swallowed but quickly nodded and turned to ran out of the tent. Mjel and Ida exchanged glimpses, a faint smile played on the blonde girl's lips. Mjel rolled her eyes.