The fever had spread widely among the Goth people. It claimed the lives of formerly strong warriors. No amount of weapon skill or strong armour could save them from this malady. The same day that Chancellor Predicator was taken to Valhalla, the minister of war Bato II was reported to have succombed to the illness too. The zombie fever was not a simple physical condition treatable by herbs or potions. It affected the mind too, a madness like a rage or a despair came over its victim. Bato was believed to have walked out of the safety of the Goths encampment alone at night into a dangerous forest where dwelt more zombies and monsters as well as human enemies.
But when the news of their loss was brought to Queen Vana by a messenger, she too was seen to be suffering the symptoms of the illness. She had not yet gone mad and could still understand what she was being told, but the messenger knew that without proper care, she too would soon fail and die. So after delivering his message he ran out of her tent to try to find someone who might be able to help.
But who could?
Vana had been lying on her bed, her face as pale as a ghost when the message arrived, in spite of her feeling so hot and sweaty. The news made her despair all the deeper. Predicator and Bato had not been the most diplomatic chancellors, and had probably made many mistakes in their dealings with others. But no one could deny that their passion and love of their people had been exceptional. They had been very loyal and supportive to Vana, while also being blunt in their criticisms of how Vana had ruled the tribe. Vana had not been insulted by their blunt words, but had appreciated having people bold enough to put forward different opinions, and adding vitality to the tribal meetings.
Vana now felt suddenly very old. She had never married. Her duty to the tribe had always come first. So she had no heir to survive her or to tell her story to any grandchildren. And all of her sacrifice and devotion to the tribe now amounted to what? The remaining members of the Goth council were also getting on in years. Would they be able to rally others to make the Goths great? Or had they perhaps also been infected by this evil disease?
But Vana realised that she was not going to be able to help them much further now. Whether the Goths survived or not was not up to Vana now.
She slowly got up from her camp bed, and dragged it out of the tent. She wanted to be able to see the sky. And strangely it felt much too hot inside the tent.
She lay down on her bed once more and looked up at the stars, twinkling between darker clouds. She felt a small snowflake drift down onto her face, so cool and refreshing.