Chapter 2
When asked to describe snow and ice, many would easily come to say the words white, cold, frigid, lifeless, or perhaps barren. Looking at it objectively, these words couldn't have explained it better. But for Ceren who's lived almost all her life surrounded by the snow and ice of the Anderas, these words couldn't have been more inaccurate. It was almost 15 years ago but the memories were still as vivid to her as if they only happened yesterday. She could still smell the morning dew after the huge snow storm that brought her and Jecht to Thronbeq, a frigid yet sturdy town at the foot of the Andera Mountains. Everything was white wherever she looked. She kept glancing at her hands and feet to make sure they were still there, and amidst the howling wind, all she heard was the endless chattering of her tiny teeth. How long they traversed the thick snow, she did not know. Time seemed to pass you by when you're focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to die of frostbite.
It might have been days or mere hours, but Ceren would never forget that moment when she saw those telltale lights from afar, smoke coming from a rooftop that promised warmth, and as they came close, a door with a sign that read "Open". Ceren could not explain what she felt in that moment, but for some reason, she regained the strength to keep moving forward when moments ago she was ready to lay in the snow and close her eyes.
Soon after, Jecht and she came face to face with a light that spelled The Tipsy Maid. She looked up at the imposing man beside her who gave her a smile and a pat on her head, You're strong little katinka, pride and approval colored his voice. Both of them turned when the door opened and Ceren saw the most beautiful man and the greenest of eyes she'd ever seen. He took a good look at their party of two and said, Why are you just standing there like a bunch of rotten logs? I'm not in the mood to bury corpses tonight before going back in, leaving the door open. The morning after that, armed with a hammer in her tiny fist, Ceren helped build their home at the top of the mountain. It was the very first time Ceren built something so significant with her small hands. And that day was the happiest day of her life.
Looking now at the small cottage she and Jecht built, surrounded by thick blankets of snow, towering pine trees, and frigid northland winds, Ceren could only think of warmth, contentment, and life. This was the only place where she felt safe. A place she didn't have to worry about where she fit in. A place she never, even in her wildest dreams, imagined having the need to leave one day.
Shivering from a crisp breeze, Ceren woke up from her musings and realized darkness already enveloped the clearing where her cottage was settled, the moon and stars the only source of light. She walked towards the door, her footsteps crunching in the snow, and shook the lantern hanging by the doorframe. In an instant, yellow-green light flared and illuminated the front porch. With no electricity and too much effort to kindle fire, glow flies were the best tool to create light in a remote place such as this.
Ceren shook the snow from her boots, opened the door, and was greeted by deafening silence.
Stop slacking off and start skinning that deer if you don't want to starve. I'm making harsk for dinner.
Hey kid, you up for a hunt?
That was only 275, you brat. I said 300 pushups. Start from the beginning.
You did great, katinka. I'm proud of you.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the familiar smell of pine, burnt wood, and mildew eased the squeezing in her chest. Ceren then proceeded to hang her coat behind the door and relight the stone pit in the middle of the room. Soon, warm light suffused the cottage. She took in the wooden bed on the right covered in straw and fur, pieces of clothing hanging by the wall beside it. On the left was a makeshift kitchen, clay pots, wooden plates, and other cookware littering the stacked shelves anchored to the wall. And beyond the kitchen, separated by a wooden partition and cloth to give some sort of privacy, was her bedroom. It wasn't so much a room as it was a bed with just a makeshift curtain covering it. A girl has to have her privacy afterall.
Setting the kettle to boil by the fire, Ceren sat on Jecht's bed, failing to keep the long-weary sigh that came out of her. She stayed like that, silent, looking at the fire blazing hotly while shadows swayed around her. It was so quiet. So painfully quiet. Then, as if something wanted to break free from her, the words were already out before she had the chance to quell them.
"Hey, old man." She said to the empty room. "I...uh...wonder what you're up to right now." That's it. I've officially lost my mind, she thought. Still, she carried on. No one's there to hear her crazy anyway. "You're probably getting yourself killed right now out-muscling a bear or teaching little girls to wield weapons three times their size." She chuckled. "You've always been an idiot like that." A stubborn idiot and the best man she'd ever known. Not that she knew a lot of men, just that, all the men in her life so far, with the exception of Gunnar, either betrayed her or tried to slit her throat.
Ceren waited. When only the fire crackling was heard, she whispered, "Are you watching over me?" Ceren swallowed to clear the lump that seemed stuck in her throat. "Nothing's changed much around here. I haven't found Gittins's left boot, but I think I'm close. Ulma still uses me as a test subject. She...uh...made me drink something last month. I don't remember much what happened after that but Gunnar kept on looking at me funny ever since. He won't tell me why, though." Creen couldn't decide which was harder, talking to an actual person or having a conversation with a wall.
"And Gunnar...he still misses you." We miss you. "I told him to find another man and forget your sorry ass but he wouldn't listen."
"Speaking of Gunnar. I just came back from the tavern and I…" Taking a deep breath, Ceren tried again. "You must already know what I'm thinking of doing." Ceren gripped her hands together as she felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger boil inside her. "I have to do it, Jecht." She gritted. "You know I have to do it. It's the only way." Who she was trying to convince more though, Ceren wasn't certain.
It was nearing dusk when she left The Tipsy Maid. If Gunnar was surprised by her sudden departure, he did not show it. Besides, she had a good excuse to leave knowing how difficult, not to mention dangerous, it was to go up the mountain at night. He did not need to know that her desire to go home had little to do with the time and more to do with the bit of news he dropped on her.
The Crimson King, one of the three known aesirs that are currently in existence, ruler of all Von Drakkor, was looking for a wife. Aside from these facts, almost close to nothing was known of the king. Some said he's a battle-worn old warrior with scars in every inch of his skin. The younger part of the population, women in particular, insisted on envisioning him as a young, dashing male specimen with golden hair, bluest eyes, and pearly white smile. Her personal favorite, however, was him being half human and dragon with razor-sharp teeth, a scaly tail, and leathery wings. People were so starved for every bit of information on the elusive aesir that they resorted to creating whatever story they could of him.
No wonder the news of his quest for a wife immediately broke out and even reached their remote town. Normally, Ceren would have already forgotten such news soon after she heard it. She simply did not give a damn what happens outside Thronbeq, much less care whether the Crimson King chooses to die a wrinkly old virgin or to marry a hundred wives. How she wished that was her reality. But it was not. Her reality already took a drastic turn a year ago as she laid in the snow with a lifeless Jecht beside her.
The memories of that day never ceased to haunt Ceren. Despite her hearing that bone-chilling crack as soon as it happened, the possibility that she and Jecht could have escaped the massive snowfall that followed would have been short of a miracle. They were situated in a very steep ravine 5,000 feet above ground. There was nowhere to go but down. Jecht must have realized this as well. She saw the cold determination in his eyes as he commanded her to wait while the snow above raced to trample them.
Ceren felt the ground quake, or perhaps it was her body shaking as her heart tried to rip out of her chest with every second that passed. Yet, for an unknown reason, Ceren's mind was eerily calm. She couldn't point out exactly why. Perhaps this was how it feels when one's about to die. She glanced at Jecht, wondering if he was feeling the same. He must have thought she was seeking comfort for he managed to give her a tight smile before shouting, "Now!". It was as if time decided to slow down at that moment. Ceren jumped from the ledge and formed a tight ball tucking her head below her arms as she and Jecht were engulfed by the snow plummeting down the ravine. A split second of being jostled was all she recalled before darkness took her over.
Ceren woke up with Gunnar crying beside her bed and the news that Jecht was dead. The watchers, who immediately went to the site to assess the damage, would have missed their location if not for the piece of Ceren's raven hair sticking out of the thick snow where they were buried. That's where the watchers found them, with her wrapped securely in Jecht's arms. Gunnar told her how, for 3 days, she hung between life and death. How Gunnar already had her grave digged up beside Jecht's at the back of their cottage. And how the town planned to hold ygir yoshqa, a ceremony reserved for town chieftains, in honor of Jecht.
All of these fell upon Ceren's unlistening ears. She watched unseeinglingly as Gunnar and Ulma worked hand in hand to help her recover. She followed mechanically when they told her to eat, to take her medication, and to sleep. Gunnar and Ulma tied her unusual behavior to grief and trauma from the accident. Yet, not once did they see her shed a tear. They untiringly looked after her, oblivious to the dark thoughts occupying Ceren's mind.
She knew no one would believe her. So she decided on that day to keep the truth to herself. That what happened in that ravine was far from an accident. Jecht did not die from an unfortunate act of nature. No. It couldn't be farther from the truth. Because Jecht was murdered.
It was only for a short while, but buried in that pile of snow, Ceren gained consciousness. Her senses were hazy, yet she was still able to hear the crunching of footsteps coming closer. It was only a small crack, however she was able to see a person crouch down just a few feet from where she laid. She felt her consciousness fading and fought hard to keep it. Squinting, Ceren watched as the person removed the hood of their cloak. The face she saw, to this day, was still engraved in her mind. She knew it so well, she could pinpoint every mole and freckle peppering his skin. The face that was always the front and center of her nightmares. And those raven hair and amber eyes so similar to hers, it was as if she was looking through a mirror. Alexios --- her brother. Ceren could not believe he was there. He did not seem to be in a hurry to help either as he leisurely watched the pile of snow before him. Hard as she tried, Ceren felt the darkness finally claiming her. But not before she saw that beautiful smile. One that used to bring her warmth, but now only sent chills down her spine.
Ceren was suddenly jolted out of her thoughts by the whistling of the kettle. Standing up, she removed it from the fire and proceeded to make herself a cup of tea. Looking back at what happened on that day did nothing but solidify her resolve even more. "I have to go to him, Jecht. I have to do it." She said, unfeeling of the heat as she gripped the mug so tightly the metal groaned. "I will find him and I'll make sure the last thing he hears before he dies is your name."
For the past year, Ceren thought of countless ways on how to get her revenge and not one ended with her getting out alive. In any case, it was never about her surviving. As long as the conclusion was Alexios's lifeless body rotting six feet under, she did not care whether or not she loses her life in the process. Ceren would hack through whatever army, tear down every wall, and kill anyone who gets in her way. If only it were that simple. Regardless of her burning determination, the sad reality was, she was but a mere mutt wanting to face a lion. Ceren was confident of her abilities. She knew she had what it takes to bring down a deadly Khilgir by herself. She knew she could put up a fight and win. But not if her opponent was the ruling Emperor of Wastrall and the powerful aesir of the North.
The reality of her weakness drove her frustration to no end. Yet, Ceren may be fearless but she was no fool. In order for her to have a standing chance, she had to acquire power greater if not equal to that of Alexios's. How she would achieve this seemingly impossible and suicidal endeavor, she had no idea. That was until Gunnar dropped the news about the Crimson King. Ceren knew all there was to know about the aesir but not much of the king. And there was only one reason why he was suddenly of interest to her. A reason that may not be of significance to the grand scheme of things but was all she needed to find that light at the end of the tunnel --- the Crimson King and Alexios's mutual hatred of each other.
So as soon as she heard the Crimson King was holding a tournament, Ceren's fate was sealed. No matter what, she had to enter and win that tournament. She did not need to fight for herself, no. The last thing she wanted was the burden of committing herself to someone. What she needed to do was to find someone who will be willing to hire her to fight for them. What happens after that, well, she'd cross that bridge when she gets there. After all, this plan was already a thousand times more plausible than her marching to where Alexios is and getting herself killed before she even gets a thousand feet from him. Yes. This was the right way. It was the only way. Ceren could practically see Jecht rolling over his grave.
Finishing her tea, Ceren headed to her room and began packing her rucksack with everything she'd require in her journey. The tournament will commence in a month's time. Enough to reach Hornefross, main state and seat of power in Von Drakkar and where the tournament will be held. But first, she had to make it out of Thronbeq. The only way, without the need to traverse rocky mountain paths and risk dying of frostbite, was via the trade boat which delivers all commodities to the village every fortnight. And fates may have favored her this time as the shipment was scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning. However, the journey to the docks would take at least three hours depending on how solid the river was. If she wanted to make it in time, she had to leave right this moment.
Finished with her packing, Ceren went to pull a rectangular wooden box from underneath Jecht's bed. It was almost as long as the bed itself. She opened the box and removed the pile of protective cloth, covering the beautiful glaive that laid beneath ---- Oenmir, Jecht's most-prized possession. It stood close to 6-foot tall with a smooth red oak shaft, a 2-foot curved blade at the head, and smaller blade at the bottom. Ancient runes decorated the blade and swirled around the shaft down to the leather handle in the middle. In all the years she'd known Jecht, Ceren could not remember a time this glaive was not attached to him. It had always been his companion and protector ---- now, hers. She was wrapping the linen cloth protectively around the blade when she heard the faintest sound of a horn blaring from a distance. It was time to go.
Ceren picked up a paper and a quill and started scribbling a note. Gunnar would kill her for this, but she's never been good with goodbyes or any social interaction that may involve emotions of some kind for that matter.
I'm going away for a while. Don't worry and don't look for me. I'll be back.
-Ren
Taking in the quiet stillness of her home, Ceren finally stepped out the door and without looking back, began her long trek down the mountains.