The glistening spires rose high into the frozen air,
A beautiful nightmare surrounded by death.
And waiting within was the Lich,
The architect of an endless winter.
EXCERPT FROM THE SAGA OF KELL KRESSIA
BY THE BARD PAX MEDINA
At the end of another long and blustery day they finally arrived in Meer, the most northern settlement in Kinnan.
Throughout the morning Kell had noticed the scrubland gradually changing, becoming more level with fewer rocky growths. The hills became smaller while the temperature continued to fall. A constant flurry of snow followed them throughout the entire day, sometimes gusting straight into their faces, sometimes blowing hard against their backs. Everyone was wrapped up head to toe and yet somehow a little snow managed to get inside their clothes. Even Willow had finally covered up in a thick jacket and gloves but had decided to forgo a hat. Kell wondered if she felt the cold at all and was merely covering up to make them feel more comfortable.
Already hard underfoot the mud was replaced with a sea of frozen soil that crunched under the horses’ hooves. The permafrost stunted the growth of everything except the hardiest lichen. It sadly added no colour to the dull and seemingly lifeless tundra.
Across the plain, rainwater gathered in small depressions creating stagnant pools covered with floating yellow scum and insects. There were no birds, plants or trees and no signs of life except for biting flies. The featureless landscape extended to the horizon making it difficult to judge distance.
For three hours in the afternoon they rode across the blank tundra. The only way to know they were making any progress was the movement of the hazy sun overhead. Hidden behind a solid blanket of cloud it provided no heat and little in the way of light. They all travelled in a daze, seemingly trapped in a monotonous nightmare that was without apparent end.
Finally, as the sun began to weaken, the ground started to change. Broken rocks and jagged pieces of stone disrupted the featureless surface. It was now cold enough for the drifting snow to settle and deep banks began to form creating the illusion of hills and valleys. Gradually a black dot appeared on the horizon which slowly grew in size.
An hour later as they rode down to Meer the track became a sea of mud, churned up by the constant passage of travellers. As the entirety of the settlement was revealed they all took a moment to study it.
“What a shit-hole,” said Gerren. It was the first time the boy had seen it but Kell was in agreement. Ten years on and it was still the same festering pile of rotting buildings that looked as if they would blow away in a strong breeze. Crumbling slabs of basalt formed the walls of the dozen large buildings that were visible above ground. Their roofs were a jumbled network of rare and precious wood, waxed sheets, rope and hides which were constantly being repaired to make them waterproof. Icicles hung from every surface and deep banks of snow sat against the western wall of each building.
More common were bulbous stone arches set low to the ground. These led to subterranean homes and businesses that sat under a permanent layer of thick ice. Dozens of stone chimneys poked out of the ground, each one spewing a column of grey smoke. The buildings above ground were reserved for businesses that couldn’t be under the ice including the farrier, the stable, the abattoir and the tannery. A cloud of noxious gas hung over the last, adding an unpleasant miasma to the already strange brew of smells.
To the west of town were the homes of the nomadic Frostrunner clans who periodically visited Meer to trade. Their hide-covered yurts sat in neat lines, beyond which were vast herds of reindeer. The huge beasts provided almost everything the clans needed and the rest came from bartering meat, fur, animal hide and horn. To the east of town, as far away as possible from all other animals, were the kennels where dozens of yapping sled-dogs were being reared and trained.
Beyond the settlement to the north, glittering like thousands of jewels scattered carelessly on the ground, was a sea of snow and ice. At first it appeared to be featureless but Kell’s eyes began to pick out other colours; pale blues, deep purples and even splashes of red from buried algae. There were some colours he couldn’t name and was surprised that he’d forgotten about them over the last ten years. A day’s travel to the north was the Frozen Circle. An unmarked line on the sea of ice where the land ended and the only thing beneath your feet was icy cold water.
“Let’s get something to drink,” said Kell, steering his horse towards the stable. The others followed except Willow who held back and then dismounted from her creature.
“The Nhill cannot stay here while we travel on the ice. It would not survive,” said the Alfár, gesturing at the town. “I will take care of it and follow.”
Kell had a good idea what Willow meant and quickly turned away. He didn’t want to see what happened. At some point in the past the Alfár’s mount had been a living, breathing horse, but not any more. Perhaps it was mercy to end its suffering.
The largest building above ground, and still in the best condition, was the stable. Before they reached the huge doors Kell was met by a tall Hundarian dressed in furs. The man had arms as thick as Bronwyn’s and a dent in one side of his skull. When he smiled, which was often, there were several missing teeth on one side of his mouth. Bomani’s beard was a little more grey than Kell remembered but other than that he hadn’t changed in ten years.
“Here you are,” said the stablemaster, as if he knew they were coming. He embraced Kell in a huge bear-hug, lifting him off the ground with ease. His laugh was a low rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest. Its familiarity immediately put Kell at ease. “I was just telling someone about you. A little scrap of a lad and now look at you. All grown up with a beard.”
“It’s been a long time,” said Kell.
“Too long,” said Bomani.
“Given how much you drink, I’m amazed you still remember me,” said Kell.
“Ahhh, I’m a big man, with big appetites,” said Bomani, patting his slightly round belly. “Besides, how could I forget my favourite adventurer?”
Kell made the introductions and then for the sake of appearances haggled about the price of stabling their horses. He knew the stablemaster was giving him a fair price but he’d missed Bomani’s warmth. Without really knowing how long they would be on the ice, and if they would even make it back, Kell paid for a few extra days. He knew his old friend wouldn’t sell their horses the day the money ran out. If they all died on the ice Bomani would make sure the animals went to a good home. The stablemaster wouldn’t still be working with horses if he didn’t care about them, especially after one of them had knocked out half of his teeth and dented his skull.
“Will I see you for a drink later?” asked Kell.
“Of course. It’s your turn to pay,” said Bomani.
They left the horses with him then went to find lodgings.
“What about dogs and sleds?” asked Vahli.
“Tomorrow, please. I want to sleep in a real bed. This will be our last chance.”
“My arse is frozen solid from the saddle and I can’t feel my toes,” said Bronwyn.
“I could do with a warm meal,” added Malomir.
Since King Bledsoe had been so generous, and with contributions from the others, they had enough money to pay for their own rooms at the Lucky Fish tavern. Even though he entered his own room Kell suspected Malomir wouldn’t be spending much time in his bed. Kell made sure his own room wasn’t next to Bronwyn’s before he went in search of a hot bath.
Two huge pools of steaming water sat in a large underground chamber. Heated from boreholes dug deep into the earth, the hot springs were the only thing Kell had missed about Meer. After stripping naked he scrubbed his skin all over with soap and a coarse brush then lathered off with warm water. Only then was he allowed to get into the glorious hot water. His body ached and he was already sick of feeling cold. Kell heard other people coming and going but he kept his eyes closed. The heat seeped into his body and gradually it warmed him through. After a while Kell began to sweat but he stayed until his muscles had eased.
Back in his room he dressed in clean clothes, brushed his hair with his fingers and felt like a new man. With his stomach growling he went in search of food and a cold beer.
Like all of the buildings underground the corridors of the tavern were narrow and the ceiling low. It made Kell slightly claustrophobic but at least he didn’t have to walk hunched over like Bronwyn whose head scraped on the ceiling. The only place where she could stand upright was in the centre of the main room which descended in concentric rings. People sat on cushions on the floor on all levels or stood at the bar which resided in the bottom of the shallow bowl.
The crowd in the Lucky Fish were a mix of people from across the Five Kingdoms but all of them were cut from the same cloth. Grizzled, hardy and hairy. Every face was lean and there wasn’t a man in the room without a beard or moustache to keep them warm. Regardless of origin all of them, men and women, had skin like worn leather. Chafed by the wind, rain and glare of the sun, faces often had a pale lower half from being permanently covered and a tanned upper half.
Those who came to Meer did so because it was necessary. No merchant would volunteer to travel to the coldest place in the world. Those with the means forced others to do it in their stead. The people here were the kind who needed the money and couldn’t say no. Every visitor was hard-working, straightforward and without airs and graces.
Red-shirted Seith mixed with Keen, Hundarians and Alganians without any of the usual rivalry. Dotted in among the familiar faces Kell saw clusters of ice-dwellers. The Frostrunners always slept in their yurts when visiting Meer but they often stayed for a few drinks after trading with the locals. In truth the clans were the true natives and everyone else was a visitor this far north but they never complained. They relied on their southern neighbours for many things they couldn’t find here.
Around the upper ring of the room there were stacks of fur-edged coats and boots, drip-drying, while everyone walked around in their socks or bare feet. Kell happily yanked off his boots and left them beside the pile. The tiled mosaic floor shone from being polished by so many feet and light came from lanterns set in alcoves around the room. Nothing hung from the ceiling, which was made from a huge slab of grey stone. Around it were a number of hidden narrow channels that allowed air to circulate, although it didn’t stop the room from smelling like wet dog. Heat came from four stout metal stoves which were constantly being fed with a supply of reindeer dung.
Kell had barely started on his first beer when the others joined him at the bar. Malomir and Bronwyn had bathed as their wet hair shone in the light. Gerren was still a little pungent from the saddle but he probably wasn’t used to bathing with strangers.
As it was his last chance to entertain, the bard had changed into one of his garish outfits, a mix of green and purple that jarred the eye. Vahli carried his instrument carefully in both hands and many people followed his progress through the bar. When the Alfár entered the room a few heads turned in surprise, and one or two people stared, but they quickly went back to minding their own business.
“How about something to eat?” suggested Kell, once everyone had a drink.
Sat around one of the low tables they ate generous slabs of reindeer steak, dripping in a tangy apple and redcurrant sauce, with greens and roasted potatoes. The black beer was icy cold and for once the bard didn’t turn up his nose in favour of wine. Willow ate everything on her plate except the meat which the others shared between them. For a short time there was the illusion of harmony around their table, but all too soon it fell apart.
“Boy, you smell,” said Vahli, nudging Gerren with an elbow. “You should bathe.”
“I was going to, but there were other people in there. Naked people. Some of them were women,” whispered the boy.
“No one cares. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” said Vahli, trying to put the boy at ease. Gerren’s face turned pale and he hurried from the room. “What is wrong with him?” The bard shook his head then excused himself to entertain his audience.
“Poor lad. I doubt he’s ever seen a naked woman before,” said Malomir, gulping down the last of his ale.
“Well, don’t look at me,” said Bronwyn. “I’m not going to show him.”
“I think that’s a good idea. You’d ruin him. Then he’d think every woman was like you,” said Malomir.
“That’s true,” she said and Malomir laughed.
She was unlike any other woman Kell had ever met. When she and Malomir had first argued he’d thought the Islander was wide of the mark. Wherever she went, even among her own people, Bronwyn would stand out. People viewed her with respect, but she would forever be an oddity that didn’t fit anywhere.
She’d needed to find someone who was her equal. For whatever reason it seemed as if she’d found that in Malomir. Kell didn’t understand why the Islander was on this journey, but the loneliness he’d sensed from the mad man had faded of late. He was glad they’d found each other.
“What are you grinning about?” asked Bronwyn.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m going to check on the horses.”
As he pulled on his boots the first notes of a tune echoed around the room from Vahli’s oud. His nimble fingers danced across the strings and a complex and mournful melody filled the space. Every face turned towards the bard whose presence swelled under the scrutiny of so many fans. His reason for coming to the north wasn’t a mystery. Vahli couldn’t bear living in the shadows of mediocre talent like Pax Medina. It was selfish and petty but no different from any of them. None of them were here, with the possible exception of Willow, for selfless reasons.
At the moment the Alfár was watching Vahli perform an old classic with what Kell thought was a puzzled expression. Malomir and Bronwyn had snuck off somewhere leaving her alone at the table but Willow didn’t seem to notice. As much as she was watching the story unfold, Willow was studying the crowd with the same baffled curiosity. At a distance the Alfár looked similar to everyone else and yet they were fundamentally different. What stories would Willow tell her people about them if she made it home?
Kell bought two beers from the bar and snuck them out the front door into the freezing cold.
In Meer the hours of darkness were shorter than elsewhere and the further north they went, the fewer they became. As they travelled across the ice they would quickly reach a point where the sun didn’t set at all. It would stay like that throughout the summer until the autumn equinox when blessed darkness returned.
Slush and mud squelched at Kell’s boots as he slogged down the street towards the stable. Warm yellow light showed through a crack in the doors which he took as a sign that Bomani was still inside. As Kell raised his hand to knock on the wicket gate he heard raised voices. He couldn’t make out the words but the low patient rumble told him the stablemaster was one of the speakers. The other voice was muffled but familiar. Kell eased open the door and slipped inside hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. Standing at the far end of the stables Bomani was deep in conversation, trying to persuade Gerren not to leave Meer.
Gerren raced out of the bar and headed straight to his room. This had all been a terrible mistake. He should never have come on this journey. He should have turned back when Kell had given him the chance, especially when he’d been tied to a tree. He should have gone home, said he was sorry, and carried on with his real life. But he’d been too stubborn and proud. He’d been determined to prove that Kell was a coward. It didn’t even matter anymore, he was no better because he wanted to run away.
Every night the dream was the same. His armour didn’t hold and the voran tore him apart, but he didn’t die straight away. Instead he watched as it feasted on his innards, gulping them down like sausages.
He’d wake up sweating, crying sometimes, muffling the sound by stuffing a blanket in his mouth until it passed. He’d wipe his face, tell himself it would be all right because he was surrounded by heroes, but it didn’t make any difference. They couldn’t always be there to protect him. Last time he’d been lucky. If not for the Alfár saving him, twice no less, he would have died.
The lessons with Malomir were a joke. He did everything he was told but Gerren knew it wouldn’t be enough. A few days of learning how to fight with a sword wouldn’t change anything. If he had years then maybe, just maybe, he’d stand a chance in a real fight. Even then it still relied on a lot of luck, especially on the ice where it was always so slippery.
Gerren wasn’t sure if he believed Kell’s story about being cursed but he’d been telling the truth about one thing. Luck had played a big part in his survival but this time they had half the numbers.
He had to leave right now. Get on his horse, ride south and forget about all of this. Forget about being a hero, having a legacy and being rich. Right now he just wanted to live. To go home, back to where everything made sense. Back to a place where the fear couldn’t reach him.
Gerren stuffed all of his belongings into his bag, gathered up his sword but didn’t put it on his back. He wasn’t a warrior and wearing it did nothing but put him off balance. After pulling on his boots and hat he went to the back door of the tavern and hurried out into the snow.
The wind was bitterly cold and it cut through his clothing. The sweat coating his skin froze and he shivered but kept moving, forcing his legs forward through knee-high snow until he reached the stable. The stablemaster saw him coming and his huge smile faded when he saw how Gerren was dressed.
“It’s a little late for a ride,” said Bomani.
“I need to go home. Now.” Gerren looked up and down the stalls. If he didn’t get on his horse soon he might start crying. “Where’s my horse?”
“Resting,” said Bomani, slowly approaching. He spoke calmly, hoping to soothe this problem away, but Gerren’s mind was made up. Talking wouldn’t change anything.
“I need to saddle him. I’ll do it myself.”
“Riding in the dark is dangerous. Your horse could fall and break a leg, plus you’d freeze to death out there. Wait until the morning.”
“I can’t,” shouted Gerren. “I can’t,” he said again, quieter. He’d made one bad decision after another. This was the only way he’d survive.
“Let me help you,” said Bomani.
“You can’t,” said Gerren. “It’s too deep. I need to get away.”
“Running won’t make the fear go away,” said a voice behind him.
Gerren spun around and felt his heart sink as Kell walked out of the shadows. He’d hoped the others would have been too busy to notice he was missing. By morning it would have been too late. They would have gone on without him and been no worse off. The last person he’d wanted to see him running away was Kell.
“Have you come to gloat?”
For some reason Kell was carrying two glasses of beer. He offered one to Bomani who took the beer and hurried out the door. “No, to say that I understand.”
Gerren snorted. “What does that mean?”
“You thought you were ready to face anything.” Kell sat on a bale of straw and took a sip of beer. “You’d heard the stories a hundred times and knew that was what you wanted. A real life, full of adventure. Not a boring one like your parents. They never seemed happy. Always complaining about other people or not having enough money. But the heroes, they were larger than life. People loved them. They’d buy them drinks, give them free food and rooms, and the women, they loved them too.”
Much of what he was saying was familiar but Gerren had the impression Kell was also talking about himself as a boy.
“It all looked so easy. You already knew about the dangers so there wouldn’t be any surprises. But hearing about monsters, that’s just words. Seeing them up close, it’s different.” Kell was staring at the wall but his eyes were far away. “It was the vorans, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” There seemed little point in lying since he’d been caught trying to run away.
“For me, it was a mountain lion. We were only a day outside of Liesh and it just wandered into camp. At first I don’t think it even realised I was there. But then the others saw it and drew their weapons. And I swear I saw its eyes change.” Kell held up one hand towards something but then let it drop. “Its gums peeled back and then it started growling. And its claws, they were so sharp. I still have a scar,” said Kell, touching his left side. “That’s when it found me. The fear.”
“How did you get rid of it?”
“I didn’t. Instead I hid it from the others. They were heroes, so they always charged into battle. Whenever we met something dangerous they went straight in and I just stayed around the edges, killing the maimed and stabbing the dying to finish them off. I thought, in time it will get easier. I’ll toughen up and then I’ll be just like them. I told myself the fear would go away and I’ll feel whole again. Then it was over and everyone else was dead. I returned to Algany as a hero but it was an empty victory.”
“I don’t understand,” said Gerren.
“The fear followed me home.”
Gerren was even more confused. “You want me to stay?”
Kell shook his head. “Over time the fear will fade. Ten years ago I was afraid of everything. It’s taken me a long time to recover. Now, I’m just afraid of dying. I’m not ready. That’s why I was going to run, but somewhere along the way I realised something. I need to be here.” Kell took another drink and a wry smile touched his face. “I’ve been carrying around this huge weight. It’s like a boulder hanging from my neck. It’s never going to go away unless I make it. So I have to go north, and I might die, but there’s a small chance that I’ll live. Maybe the curse is real and it won’t make a difference, but I’m making the choice. I won’t have anyone or anything tell me what to do. Don’t let the fear decide for you.”
“I don’t want to die. Coming here was the biggest mistake of my life!” said Gerren, finally able to say it out loud. The anguish in his chest was like a vice, squeezing his heart. It was such a relief to finally put it into words. “I’m sorry, Kell. I should have listened to you. I should have turned around and gone home days ago, but I just wanted–”
“It doesn’t matter any more. The only thing you need to decide is why you’re here. Why did you really come on this journey?” asked Kell. Gerren started to answer but Kell held up a hand. “Take some time and really think about it. Tomorrow morning, if you want to go home then no one will think any less of you. But if you want to travel north with us, then make sure it’s for the right reasons. Your reasons, selfish as they may be. Just make sure you understand why you’re doing it, Gerren. You can hide from other people, but you can’t hide from yourself. I’m proof of that.”
Kell held his gaze for a moment then walked out the door. Gerren sank down onto the ground and stared at nothing, his mind whirling. He wiped his face and found that it was wet. Had he cried in front of Kell? It didn’t matter any more. Kell had proven, time and again, that he wasn’t trying to escape or turn back. He might have been a coward in the past but not anymore. Gerren knew that he was the only one in the group.
Why was he really here? Gerren returned to his room and spent the rest of the night thinking about the answer. His body ached, his eyes were sandy but his mind wouldn’t let him rest until he knew the truth.
All night the same thoughts went around and around. Every time he asked himself the question he tried to evade it with humour or by deflecting the blame onto other people, but in the theatre of his mind there was no escape. He relentlessly pursued the answer, brushing aside excuses, his pride and lingering fear. Kell had been right again. There was nowhere to hide. Gerren might be able to fool others but never himself.
Why had he come on this journey? What was he searching for? What did he really want?
For hours this went on and gradually he wore himself down until the truth began to take shape. Morning, when it finally came, found him exhausted but happy because he had an answer.
Feeling at peace Gerren made a decision.