Kingdoms of Caelum; Autumn of the War Queen

Chapter 11

The lonely days that followed her father's death passed too slowly, her only companion was the horrific scene now etched in her mind: seeing him lifeless, cruelly replaying again and again. For hours on end she tortured herself, blaming herself for all of this, and the encounter with the wolves lay heavy on her mind. Hallvarder was the Chief of Clans, and he had not even been laid to rest. However, every so often she would leave her thoughts behind, just long enough to take in the surroundings. She realised how sheltered they had been on Roskilde from the bitter western winds, winds that now seemed to batter the red canyons and long grasses. The autumn sun brought little warmth to the barren land and, as a result, her clothes were still damp and her boots now made a squelching sound which brought a grimace to her mouth at every step. If there were any predators nearby, they would hear her coming before she saw them. Katla had not stopped walking for four days; she had followed the NagdiRiver from the Kingdom and had now travelled further than she had ever dreamed possible. In the distance, the Kingdom of Roskilde still hung, small and black like the shadow of a bee hive behind her, suspended in mid air; silent and solemn. But she had not turned to look back once. It was much too painful.

Now was about survival. The land was desolate but beautiful at the same time; russet coloured rocks dived into giant valleys to one side of her in different shapes and formations, while over the river sat wide plains of long grasses waving in great unity against the breeze. A few times she heard the noises of animals, perhaps wild boar rustling in the grasses, horse or deer. But she did not see anything. She cursed her lack of weapon, but, despite this fact, and the fact she did not have food or shelter, daytime on the realm had been bearable, almost pleasant. It was a lonely place but she began to feel more comfortable the further she travelled, confident the Incants did not venture this far north. Yes the days were manageable, but the nights, they were different. The first night, after the wolves, Katla had done nothing but run. She ran from the wolves, both under and on the Kingdom. Knowing Ragan would spin his lies and the Clansmen loyal to him would go looking for her, she ran until her lungs burned and her muscles tore, until the first speck of morning light kissed the soil, and then she had cried for a long time. She walked all the next day and, when the night came again, she sheltered in one of the many crevasses in the wide canyon valley. But it had been a mistake. Hundreds of invisible insects came crawling from beneath the rocks, hissing and clicking over her legs and face. Bats, mice and wild cats echoed all around her, driving her almost insane with fear. When dawn broke she left the valley and swore never to return to the canyons after dusk. The following two nights she had slept by the riverside, weaving long grass over her body until she felt safe. It wasn't ideal but it was the best she could do; at least she had slept. Now it was the fourth day and hunger had begun to cloud her mind. Thinking back to what she knew about the RisingPort, it could still take her one, maybe two weeks, to reach on foot. She needed to eat or it was all for nothing, but without a bow she could not hunt. Katla threw her quiver to the floor and scavenged for an arrow, a long shot perhaps but maybe she would be able to make a spear and fish. She had seen many fish jumping in the river during the day, and now the river had opened it banks wider and fuller: there should be plenty in there, surely she could catch one?

A lone bush stood close by and she made her way to it; brambles snagged at her as she snapped off a long and fairly thick branch. She began to pull up threads of grass from the ground. They were stubborn and sharp in places but she gathered enough to begin tying the arrow to the branch by wrapping and weaving the grass around. It took the best part of an hour before she was happy the arrow was secure and the makeshift spear strong enough to stab and keep hold of a fish.

"Okay, this will do," she finally said to herself as she pulled off her high boots. The water was cold and she took a sharp breath: a lot colder than she remembered after the fall from Roskilde. She waded in as far as her knees and stood for a moment, before getting into the rhythm of the fish, attempting her first shots. They ended in vain, as did the next shots, and the next. Three hours of painful throwing and stabbing water went by resulting in nothing. Katla's frustration turned into anger after a while when her shoulders began to ache. The silver shapes of the darting fish were too quick for her. Finally, she threw her spear at the riverbank in temper and stomped out. Her feet were bright red and numb with cold, and she was still hungry. Standing there, shivering on the riverbank, something caught her eye. It was only a brief movement to the west, but it had been enough for her to notice it. Between her and the canyons a lone deer stood grazing. It was small and brown with little white spots. Katla crouched slowly so the grasses hid her from view, heartbeat rising. If she killed it, she would have to eat it raw, guts and all, but she did not care. She wanted, no she needed, that deer. Breathing in short, shallow successions, she picked up the flimsy spear and moved like a shadow through the wild grass. She had never hunted before, not like this, but she didn't need to be taught. Instinct had taken over. The deer raised its head. It had smelt something and its ears twitched nervously. Katla didn't stop. Instead she made quicker ground, aware that she needed to be closer before she could strike. Excitement coursed through her blood and the world around suddenly seemed silent except for her own loud heartbeat. She held the spear ready, hoping she was close enough to throw, and for it to stab cleanly. The deer, however, had decided it was time to leave, and Katla saw the first flicker of its back legs twitching, ready to bolt. It was now or never. Lining the spear up as straight as she could, she stood from her spot. Everything then seemed to happen all at once. The deer bucked, startled, and Katla launched. But she did not see where the spear landed because, at the same moment, with incredible force and speed, a steel battle axe as big as a horse's head plummeted through the air before her and straight into the deer, killing it instantly. Katla stood frozen as she watched a frightening looking man suddenly appear from the grass only a couple of feet away. Tall and broad like a bear, he wore a chest of chain mail over a grey tunic. A large, wild cat skin cloak rested over his clothes, with its legs over his shoulders. The cat's head, which was now the hood, shrouded his face to form a terrifying image. Fear held Katla immobile as he strode wide and purposefully towards her.