Augury Answered

by Phillip Murrell

  Two Dogs sat a little straighter as he answered, “Corn ferm. That’s a warrior’s drink.”

  “Corn ferm? That doesn’t sound good. My father drank wheat ferm when I was a child. I tried a sip once and immediately regretted it. It tasted horrible,” Murid said.

  “Wheat ferm? It sounds interesting, but I don’t know. It can’t be worse than this stuff.” Two Dogs gestured toward his mug.

  “Then make your own ferm. I won’t have you wasting mine!”

  Two Dogs looked shocked by Murid’s outburst. She tried to hold a stern gaze, but the absurdity of the situation hit her. They were fighting over ferm preferences. Two Dogs must have come to the same conclusion. They both laughed hysterically. Two Dogs even took a moment to finish the ferm in his cup. He didn’t look any happier to drink it, but Murid appreciated the gesture.

  “You’re trying corn ferm in the future,” Two Dogs said.

  “Fair enough. Shall we get back to business?” Murid asked.

  “Yes. In addition to my apology, I came to clearly state why we’re here. My tribe and Ancestors’ Hand’s tribe were destroyed by the Corlains. Many other tribes have also been eradicated, moved, or forced to assimilate. A fire burns in me to change this reality. I’ve spoken to many of your people. They’ve told me you feel the same.”

  “I do, for different reasons, obviously.”

  “Obviously. You have the numbers to help us survive more than one or two attacks. We have the power to make the Corlains hesitate. Vikisotes shouldn’t be casting magical spells. Our presence will confuse them, allowing us to kill more. Any delay on their part will lead to more success for us.”

  “I agree. I’ll help you as long as I’m in power.”

  “Which brings me to the real reason I’m here. Did you hear what Egill said before leaving?”

  “About the Corlain scouts?”

  “Exactly. I think we should ambush them.”

  Murid stood and poured herself a second mug of ferm. She sipped slowly. Her eyes fell on Hafoca’s bow, displayed on the wall across from her.

  “There’s one minor problem. I’m in mourning.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means I should hunt a crick. Hafoca’s hunt didn’t go well. He had many warriors with him. I feel that my best way of cementing my power is to hunt by myself.”

  “Are cricks large animals?”

  “Yes. They’re deadly and swift as well. One mistake will lead to an immediate death.”

  “Sounds like my kind of hunt, but wouldn’t hunting men make a stronger statement?”

  “Perhaps, but the Vikisotes love their traditions. They’ll stubbornly face death before breaking with certain ones. I can’t blame them; I feel the same. You’ve already heard Faida scream about prophecy. I need to hunt this animal.”

  “Then I’ll help you.”

  Murid considered this. Hunting a crick with one person would give her much prestige, but would that change if the other person had magic? Does one mage equal the dozens of warriors Hafoca had? Those present saw her kill a crick. Perhaps that original hunt already gave her the clout she needed.

  “Where can we find a crick?” Two Dogs asked.

  “They roam all over these lands. That’s part of the problem. Several of them could find us if we aren’t cautious.”

  “So, if we head south, we’ll find some?”

  Murid pushed her bottom lip out with her tongue as she considered his implication. She could find cricks to the south, and she may find Corlain scouts too. Two Dogs likely wanted to find both. Then again, Vikisotes valued strength, and they all had egos. If she and Two Dogs came back from a secret hunt with a crick carcass and dead scouts, nobody could challenge her easily. Several warriors would be interested in attacking Corlains to prove their own abilities. This would buy her time.

  “You’re a clever man,” Murid said.

  Two Dogs acted shocked. “Me? I just want to go on a hunt.”

  “I think we’ll go on two.”

  Two Dogs grinned from ear-to-ear. “Somehow I knew you’d see the merit. We think a lot alike. I would have been proud to have a chief like you.”

  Murid had to turn to hide her blushing. Compliments from a man for anything other than beauty wasn’t something she was used to.

  “Please don’t turn away,” Two Dogs said. “How else can I admire you?”

  “You’re a flatterer. I’m sure many Vikisote women would love the attention.”

  Two Dogs moved closer. Murid felt her body heat increase as his breath rested on her neck.

  “The Vikisote women don’t stand out like you do. Your hair is a beacon. Your eyes are so deep I feel you can see my soul.”

  Eyes and hair. He mentioned the same two points that every other man spoke of. Perhaps he wasn’t too different.

  “What do you call these?” Two Dogs asked.

  He had turned Murid’s head to face him and pointed at the freckles that covered her face. Murid felt immense shame. She refused to cry in front of this man who would so openly mock her.

  “I’ve never seen such beauty before. These marks remind me of war paint. It’s like Mother Turklyo knew your warrior spirit could never be washed away.”

  Murid’s embarrassment immediately vanished. Two Dogs was clearly being honest. What she considered ugly was the very thing he felt made her the most beautiful. Murid had to double her efforts to keep from crying in front of him. Why couldn’t Hafoca have been like him? She would have given him a dozen sons if he had.

  “They’re called freckles,” Murid said.

  And the embarrassment came flooding back. He was courting her, at least she thought he was, and all she could think to say was to directly answer his question.

  “Freckles.” Two Dogs struggled with pronouncing the word. “They burn like igsidian.”

  Two Dogs stared into Murid’s eyes. Her heart pounded. Hafoca had his whores. Even though she was mourning, she would gladly pounce this man if given the chance. Murid’s feelings sank when he spoke again.

  “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Grab your bow, and we’ll leave.”

  Murid offered a weak smile as a response.

  “It’s a beautiful weapon,” Two Dogs said as he stroked Hafoca’s bow.

  “Thank you. It was a gift I gave my husband four years ago.”

  Murid winced. Why did she remind Two Dogs that she was a recent widow?

  “I’ll see you at the southern gate?” Two Dogs asked.

  Murid slowly nodded. Without a word, Two Dogs left her longhouse. Despite being alone, she covered her face. Some queen. It wouldn’t surprise her if Swift Shot suddenly showed up on their hunt. Oh well, two Lacreechee will make her feel more secure. The Vikisotes’ opinion likely wouldn’t change any more with a second Lacreechee.

  Murid let out a slow sigh and grabbed Hafoca’s bow. It may be a reminder of her marital status, but that didn’t make it any less of an exceptional weapon. She took a moment to wrap her belt around her waist. She sheathed her sword and slung a quiver across her back, then finished her transition from queen to warrior by adding her leather helmet. With her round shield in her left hand and Hafoca’s bow in her right, she left to meet up with Two Dogs.

  Murid saddled her horse and walked it to the southern gate. The horse followed without issue. Murid missed Willow. She’d had many horses since, but her first one still held a special place in her heart.

  Murid followed the road leading to the southern gate. She greeted her citizens as she passed and tried to judge their loyalties by how quickly and enthusiastically they responded. It looked like Egill’s proclamation of two-thirds support was accurate.

  Egill approached her as she walked. “Queen Murid, where are you going?”

  “Best you not know,” Murid responded.

  Egill blocked her path as her horse whinnied. “You’re my queen. I must know.”

  Murid glared at him. He held up his hands and stepped out of her path.

 
“I’m sorry, my queen. It’s just, I just spoke of Corlain scouts, and you seem to be heading toward the southern gate dressed for battle.”

  “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Murid started walking again. Egill paced her on her left side.

  “Please wait. Let me at least get an honor guard assembled.”

  “They won’t be necessary. Two Dogs is coming with me.”

  “Oh?” Egill slowed his pace. “This still feels like a situation that requires more guards.”

  Murid stopped with a stomp. She whirled on Egill and marched the two steps back to him.

  “I’m queen. I choose who travels with me and when. If you’re so loyal to him, you should trust he can protect a simple woman.”

  Murid suddenly realized her finger was firmly pressed against Egill’s massive chest. The burly man looked down at her digit, then back at her. Hurt shone in his eyes. He swallowed. Murid withdrew her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Egill said. “I’m loyal to you as well. It’s just—”

  “It’s just he saved our lives, right? You owe him allegiance over a woman pretending to be queen?”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. A warrior’s bond in battle is a righteous thing. Two Dogs saved our lives. That doesn’t mean you aren’t my queen. I trust and respect your wisdom and Two Dogs’ capabilities.”

  Murid sighed. Egill was a good man. She had no reason to treat him like this. Perhaps she felt guilty about looking forward to time alone with Two Dogs while her husband’s body was still cooling off.

  “No. I’m sorry, Egill. That was rude of me.”

  “But you still need to do whatever this is?”

  Murid nodded.

  Egill nodded too, then smiled. “Then I’ll ensure nobody else hassles you about it. Not even Faida.”

  Murid snorted out a chuckle. “Good luck.”

  Egill spread his arms. “I still have two Nam—er, Swift Shot and Ancestors’ Hand. I’ll bring both to defend me against Faida’s wrath.”

  Murid laughed again. Egill joined.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “To you as well,” Egill responded.

  They each waved at the other before heading in opposite directions along the ring fortress road.

  When Murid reached the gate, she almost gasped. Standing there was Two Dogs, without Swift Shot, but with a wagon and no horse. He looked just as perplexed to see her leading her mount.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I assumed we’d walk,” Two Dogs sheepishly said.

  “It never occurred to me you would think that,” Murid admitted. “Do you plan on dragging that wagon the whole way?”

  Two Dogs stared at the ground. “Yes.”

  “Really? Won’t you get tired?”

  “A little, but this isn’t the pit. I planned to increase my strength and stamina. Constantly using my magic has built my stamina and connection to Mother Turklyo. Many of her children can only cast a few spells before becoming exhausted and incapable. My spells last much longer than most. It’s the reason this is how Swift Shot and I normally hunt.”

  “Impressive, but you don’t have horses?”

  “I don’t have horses,” Two Dogs said. “They’re loud and can give you away. Protectors like me shun them. Swift Shot’s just a good friend who didn’t mind long walks.”

  “What exactly is a protector?” Murid asked.

  “The school of magic I focused on. I’m a protector, Swift Shot’s an elementalist, Ancestors’ Hand is a summoner.”

  “I see. What other schools are there?”

  “I can’t list them all. There are also healers, creators, and beast tamers. The list goes on.”

  “That’s fascinating.”

  “Shall we?”

  Two Dogs stepped to the side to let Murid lead the way. She mounted her horse and nodded, keeping her pace at a walk at first, but Two Dogs teased her for this. She couldn’t believe it when he could keep up with the wagon at a trot. He even held a conversation with her.

  “Your people accept you leaving by yourself?”

  “I’m not alone. I have you. They know the power of your magic.”

  Two Dogs smirked.

  “Are we heading toward soldiers or cricks?” he asked.

  “We’re heading toward a known crick den, but we’ll take the roads to get there. The Corlains are likely watching the roads. It should entice them to ambush us and perhaps try to ransom me.”

  “The Corlains don’t ransom; they just kill. Regardless, I love this plan. You can’t corner this attack dog.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Murid asked.

  Two Dogs shook his head as he jogged alongside Murid. He seemed to be showing off, but his heavy breathing apparently kept him from speaking.

  “How do your people get their names?”

  Two Dogs laughed. “Always with the names. Let me guess. You’ve heard the joke about two dogs humping, or shitting, or sleeping?”

  Murid had heard those jokes. Her version was the humping one, but she pretended she hadn’t. “Nope.”

  Two Dogs nodded knowingly. “Well, each tribe is different. Many of us have two-word names. It’s a way to honor Mother Turklyo by not assuming to be important enough to require a third word.”

  “I see. Do you get these names at birth or after a deed?”

  “Both. I was born Slow Grunt. Apparently I took long shits when I was a baby.”

  Murid snorted out laughter. Two Dogs laughed with her.

  “As you can see,” he said, “I quickly found a way to change it. As we age, we can earn new names to reflect our contributions to the tribe or strong personality characteristics.”

  “How did you become Two Dogs?”

  “I was about nine years old, and I broke my arm.”

  “Breaking your arm counts as a deed?”

  “It does when you’re fighting a group of much older boys. I don’t even remember why we were fighting, but I was punching teenagers. They were going easy on me at first, but a few bloody noses later and they decided I needed to feel a little of the pain they were experiencing. Some mentioned that I fought like a dog. Then another adult pointed out I had the fight of two dogs. I hated the name at first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it reminded me that I lost. Eventually, it grew on me. It’s a much better story than Swift Shot’s. Let me summarize it for you. She can shoot arrows really fast.”

  Murid laughed again. Two Dogs would have too, but he began panting again. Murid spared his ego and slowed her horse back to a walk.

  “Thank you.” Two Dogs wheezed. “Let me know when you want to pick it up again. May I ask you a question now?”

  “Absolutely,” Murid responded.

  “Where are you from? Ancestors’ Hand had mentioned you weren’t from Vikisoteland.”

  Murid glanced away from Two Dogs and blinked rapidly. She slid her right hand and nonchalantly wiped away a tear. Two Dogs seemed to notice her demeanor.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” he said.

  “Thank you. It’s a hard topic. The Corlains slaughtered my family when I was only seven. They enslaved the people of my kingdom.”

  Two Dogs nodded slowly. “I understand. The Corlains constantly steal our stones. What did your people have?”

  Murid scoffed. “The audacity to want to live free. For wanting to determine what we did with our lives, with our property.”

  Murid looked down and noticed her fist was clenched. She relaxed her fingers.

  “That, I completely understand,” Two Dogs said as his fingers grazed the igsidian blade of his tomahawk.

  Murid sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so dramatic. It’s just, I miss my old life.”

  “I understand that as well. How did you end up with the Vikisotes then?”

  “They saved me. My parents wanted me to marry Hafoca . . .” Murid trailed off. Why was she constantly bringing up her dead husband around Two Dogs? Soon she’d be describin
g the details of her wedding night to him.

  Actually, he may have been interested in the crick oil part. Hafoca had disrobed her and gently applied her first experience. She must have had an allergic reaction. It made her skin itch and her stomach turn. She’d thrown up on Hafoca, even getting vomit inside his mouth. He’d told her it was normal to feel sick the first time, but she’d denounced the stuff since. As she remembered the evening, she realized telling Two Dogs she’d thrown up moments before losing her virginity wasn’t a suitable way to flirt.

  She looked at Two Dogs. He had waited patiently as she relived her wedding night. He held a curious half smile. She internally begged him to ask a new question but somehow had momentarily lost her voice. Thankfully, he seemed to have picked up on her silent plea.

  “Are your people getting ready for a celebration? I saw a lot of banners and decorations as we left . . . What exactly is the name of your kingdom?”

  Murid radiantly smiled. Her excitement made her only answer the first question. “We are. The most important holiday, Celestial.”

  “We’re literally hunting for Corlain scouts, and you’re preparing a feast? Shouldn’t you be preparing defenses or evacuating the children?”

  Murid clenched her jaw to keep from responding too harshly. “No. Celestial is too important. Nothing, not even death, is permitted to end the sequence of events over the three days of Celestial.”

  Two Dogs looked at her hands. His gaze forced Murid to look down at her reins. Her knuckles were white.

  “Sounds good to me. I love a party. One that lets me kill uninvited Corlains just makes it better.”

  Murid laughed. Two Dogs soon joined her.

  “In addition to massacres, perhaps we talk about something other than religion today?”

  “I agree,” Two Dogs said. “You don’t want to know how many Vikisotes reeking of crick oil I’ve punched in the face because they thought Mother Turklyo was a giant turkey.”

  Murid didn’t even ask what he meant by that. Instead, she enjoyed her safer conversation with Two Dogs as they traveled the kilometers to the crick den. Two Dogs clearly enjoyed being among nature. He usually had a violent intensity, but as they traveled, he seemed to forget that, like her, he was a survivor of Corlain oppression. He asked inquisitive questions and answered without holding anything back. It was refreshing. The facades she had grown accustomed to in Vikisote society were absent from his own culture. Time passed pleasantly until Murid realized how close they were to the crick den.