The eleven were legends, one and all,
Great men with famous deeds celebrated in song.
But within the bravest a seed of fear took root,
And with each passing mile tendrils began to sprout.
EXCERPT FROM THE SAGA OF KELL KRESSIA
BY THE BARD PAX MEDINA
After a hearty breakfast Kell emerged from the King’s Blessing to find a strange tableau awaiting him in the street.
By this time most locals would normally be at work and travellers already on the road. Instead he saw that a crowd had gathered, but they were not there to see him off. Gerren and the bard, Vahli, were standing beside their horses, but even they hadn’t noticed Kell. Everyone’s attention was focused on the figure squatting down on its haunches across the road.
It was an Alfár.
No one was really sure where they came from but there was one fact that everyone could agree on. They weren’t human. There had been stories about them since his great-grandfather’s time and yet they remained a mystery. Much like grizzly bears, no one had ever seen more than one Alfár at a time and never any children. This led people to believe they led solitary lives and only came together when it was time to mate.
Every once in a while one of them would show up at a town or village. They always stayed away from cities and years could pass between sightings. Unlike other travellers they didn’t stop to chat, buy a beer and listen to the latest news. They drifted about settlements asking strange questions, purchasing recently unearthed artefacts and sometimes buying a Manx’s entire stock of rare herbs. They looked strange but they never got into any trouble so were seen as harmless nomads.
The Alfár was roughly shaped like a tall human but that was where the similarities ended. With pale blue grey skin and slightly oversized hands and feet you might be forgiven for thinking she was a freak like those found in the carnivals. But once you saw her face there was no doubt that she wasn’t human.
With a slightly tapering head rising to a bony point at the back of the crown, the Alfár had a long face with lean features. Instead of ears she had raised bony ridges with a slightly flared lip which curved forwards. One was slightly higher than the other and as someone in the crowd whispered to their neighbour, the Alfár’s head bobbed up and down like an owl pinpointing the sound. Her yellow eyes, set in a sea of black, focused on the speaker and their voice trailed away.
With a cluck of her long tongue and a flick of her downy white hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, the Alfár settled back into stillness. Beyond her physical appearance there was something about the Alfár that instinctively unnerved people. Everyone was trying their best not to attract her attention and yet there was a current of small movements. People scratched their faces, coughed or sneezed and shifted about with nervous energy. The Alfár didn’t move. She barely seemed to breathe and didn’t blink. It was as if she had turned to stone.
Finally, after a long time, she blinked and then her eyes found Kell for the first time. His instincts told him to run but not because he felt threatened. The Alfár was so outlandish he had nothing to compare her with from past experience. He simply didn’t know how to respond. There was no way to know if she wanted to fight him, fuck him or eat him. He didn’t know if a handshake would insult or endear. Talking or even making direct eye contact might be seen as offensive.
In circumstances such as these it was far better to walk away but with so many people watching Kell didn’t have the luxury of a quick escape.
The Alfár unfolded her limbs, rising to her full height until she was almost as tall as a Hundarian. With skinny limbs wrapped in corded muscle, wide shoulders and a narrow waist, the Alfár appeared to be female. Kell couldn’t be sure, but he thought so. Her loose shirt and baggy trousers hinted at much, showing muscles and curved bare skin on her chest, but ultimately revealing nothing. As she walked towards him Kell thought her neck seemed slightly too long for her body and her gait oddly loping, as if walking was a slow and uncomfortable way of moving.
Kell had met many kings and heroes in his life but never before had he been so intimidated. As a boy he’d seen an Alfár at a distance but nothing had prepared him for being face to face with one.
Up close he could see the veins beneath her skin were black and she had a musky scent. He also noticed a light dusting of what looked like grey freckles across her nose and cheeks but couldn’t be sure. When the corners of her mouth lifted he didn’t know if it was a smile or not. Some predators opened their mouth to better inhale the scent of their prey before tearing them to pieces.
“You are Kell Kressia.” Her voice had a strange resonance as if there were two people speaking in unison. The language was clearly not her native tongue and yet she spoke with clipped precision.
“I am,” said Kell, nodding firmly. She maintained eye contact with him so he did the same.
“I know of your story and have heard the song about your journey to the Frozen North.” She spoke with confidence but Kell sensed there was also a question in her cadence.
“Yes, that was ten years ago,” said Kell, breaking the silence that had settled between them. The Alfár continued to stare at him expectantly. “Did you want to know something about the journey?”
The Alfár pursed her lips but didn’t answer. Kell wanted to break eye contact, to look at someone else for help, but he had the impression she would be offended.
“I’m making the journey again. I’m going back to the ice because of the bad weather,” said Kell. He was babbling but couldn’t stop staring at her eyes. They were the colour of fresh lemons but he could also see a few specks of silver in the iris. “King Bledsoe thinks there is a new danger in the north.”
“Ahhhh,” she said, giving him another smile which he took as a good sign.
“Who are you?” he asked, but she didn’t reply. Kell had the impression that the Alfár ignored questions she didn’t like or didn’t want to answer. “What is your name?” he tried instead.
“Yes,” said the Alfár, apparently pleased with his question. “My name is We-loe-zahn-bree-kan-rosh-naz-shree.” She took a deep breath and continued speaking another long string of sounds that he couldn’t memorise. Eventually she reached the end and Kell tried to think of what to say. There was no way he would be able to remember her full name, let alone pronounce it.
“You said We-loe, at the beginning,” he asked. “Can I call you Willow?” The Alfár’s expression changed and he didn’t know if she was thinking it over or was insulted. “It would save a lot of time.”
“Time,” she said, and he wondered if she even understood the concept. There was another pause. “You may use that name,” she said and Kell heaved a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. Is there something else you want to tell me?” he asked, hoping she would explain why she had been waiting for him.
“Yes. Your new journey to the cold north. I will travel with you. I will see the world beyond the Frozen Circle. I will stand upon the snowy fields and see the castle made of ice. I will see where your heroes fell to their deaths.” When she broke eye contact Kell felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Her stare had been so intense he didn’t realise how much he’d been focused on it. He suddenly became aware of the crowd that had been watching the exchange. They looked as confused as him by the whole conversation.
Willow retrieved a battered leather bag which she slung over one shoulder and a strange battle axe unlike anything Kell had seen before. It had a huge crescent shaped blade at one end of the metal haft and an eight-headed mace on the other. It looked as if it was made of steel and yet the Alfár handled it with ease. The haft of the peculiar weapon had been engraved with a series of swirling symbols which Kell assumed were words from her native tongue.
“Tomorrow. We will meet here, at this time, and travel north together,” said Willow in her peculiar voice.
Kell didn’t know what to say. They spoke the same language and she could understand him up to a point, but there was still a huge gulf between them. The Alfár was staring at him again, waiting for something.
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, and Willow bobbed her head. As the Alfár turned away the crowd moved aside so that none of them were standing in her way.
The whole encounter had left him dazed. It also didn’t help that he’d barely slept and had woken up feeling groggy. He’d spent hours pondering what to do about Gerren and only came up with an idea shortly before dawn. Strangely, the Alfár’s appearance coincided with his plan. The sandy feeling in his eyes was still there but new energy was now coursing through his body.
“I’ve never seen one in person,” said Vahli, his eyes full of wonder. “Did you hear her voice?”
“It seems like you’ll have an interesting start for the new saga,” said Kell, which caught the bard’s attention.
“I can’t wait to find out more about her people. I could be the first to unravel fact from fiction.” Vahli was practically bouncing on his toes.
“What do you know about them?” asked Kell.
“Very little, and I suspect most of it’s nonsense.”
“Such as?” asked Kell, hoping for something to help him navigate conversations in the future.
“Some people claim they lay eggs like a bird, but you only need to look at her body to know that’s not true. For all of their differences she’s like us.” Vahli’s gaze became distant and he bit one finger in thought.
“What else?” said Kell, distracting the bard from his daydream. “Anything reliable?”
“Not much. Stories have mentioned that they’re incredibly strong and can run fast, but there’s little about their culture. I do know they have a strange sense of honour.”
“I think she ignored some of my questions when she didn’t want to answer them,” said Kell.
“They were too general,” said Vahli. “I think she likes specific questions.”
Kell mulled it over and thought the bard was right. In the future he would have to be precise.
“Where are you going now?” asked the boy, as Kell turned away. Gerren’s constant badgering was starting to get on his nerves.
“If you’re determined to come with me then meet back here tomorrow morning,” said Kell as he walked off.
“There’s nowhere to run!” yelled the boy.
“What does that mean?” asked the bard. It didn’t matter what the boy said to Vahli. Kell didn’t think the bard would believe him.
A short walk towards the outskirts brought Kell to a stout round tower. It had a single door but towards the roof there were at least a dozen small openings. The tower was made from the same stone as the town wall suggesting it had been there for a long time.
Beside the pigeon tower sat a squat wooden structure that was little more than a shack. It would probably blow away in a strong breeze which would be a blessing as the smell coming from inside was pungent. A hunchbacked woman with one eye sat in the doorway cuddling a bird to her bosom. Her huge hands almost engulfed the bird and yet with nimble fingers she carefully attached a small piece of paper to one of its legs. After settling the bird down she stood and carefully released it into the air. The pigeon circled the tower once and then flew away to the north.
“Good morning, Madam. I need to send a message.”
The woman regarded him with one bright blue eye. This was her domain so Kell waited patiently until she beckoned him forward. After a bit of haggling over the price and how many birds to send they reached an agreement and money changed hands. Feeling happier than when he’d arrived in town the previous night Kell retraced his steps to the King’s Blessing.
He spent the rest of the morning spreading the word by telling locals about his plan. Inevitably that led to people asking about his quest from ten years ago. After a few hours of questions the repetition started to get on his nerves. The questions were always about the heroes and never about him. After lunch he took a long walk outside the town to clear his head.
Talking about the past inevitably made him think of what happened when he’d returned home. Gerren probably thought he’d been lying but Kell truly had been cursed with bad luck these last ten years. Despite his best wishes his thoughts turned to the worst of it and the death of Mona. Taking a deep breath he looked at the sky, tried to shake off the bitterness and focus instead on what lay ahead.
It seemed as if he had no choice but to go north again. However, it would provide him with an opportunity to prove what he’d known for years. He was not without flaws but he would show everyone the truth. Compared to the heroes that they revered, he was the better man.
And if he should die on this journey then perhaps people would ask endless questions about his life as they did with the fallen heroes. If he was destined to return to the Frozen North then he needed to be prepared.
As he reached the gates of Nasse he found Gerren waiting for him with a surly expression. “I thought you’d decided to run away on foot!” Kell ignored him, but the boy trailed after him like a puppy. “I’ve heard what you’re doing.”
“It wasn’t a secret.”
“It won’t make any difference,” insisted Gerren. “You can surround yourself with as many heroes as you want, but it won’t change what you are.”
“Last time there were twelve of us. At the moment there are four. I see no harm in asking for volunteers to join our quest.”
“Our quest?”
“That’s right. If you still intend to make the journey.”
“I do. And nothing you can do will stop me,” said the boy, full of defiance. Kell knew he’d been just as cocky at seventeen.
“That’s become very apparent,” said Kell, heading for the tavern. “I’ll see you later?”
“Oh,” said Gerren. “All right then.”
It was actually the boy’s trap that had inspired him. Kell had sent word ahead asking for heroes to rise up and join him. The first time he’d travelled with eleven legends. If the last decade had taught Kell anything it was that the Medina saga had inspired others to greatness. There were always stories floating around the taverns about feats of bravery. Kell hoped that by casting a wide net across Hundar and Kinnan it would attract a good number of people. It might take a few days for them to find his party on the road but, thanks to Gerren, his route to the north was widely known. If anyone was really keen they would find him.
Survival was at the forefront of his mind. It was not guaranteed but the more heroes he recruited, the better the odds. At least this way he had a chance whereas before there had been none. Perhaps he could borrow some of their good luck as he had none of his own.
Had King Bledsoe and Lukas sent him north alone in the hope that he would recruit others? Or had they done it so that he’d fail?
It no longer mattered. Just like everyone else they’d underestimated him. Once again Kell would prove he was a survivor and a lot more difficult to kill than anyone realised.