Morning frost had turned the grass into sharp shards, the branches of the trees were frozen rigid, and water had turned as hard as stone. Barely a living thing would venture out into this freezing wilderness, sources of food and water were now minimal, until this bitter winter would pass.
A deer had braved the cold morning, the air was thick with each of its shallow breaths, alert to the surrounding woods, cautious that dangers may still be present. Its eyes darting from side to side, something had the animal spooked, something it had not expected.
The arrow burst through one side of its neck, the animal losing all control of its limbs, slumping to the ground with a twitch, the blood seeped out in steady spurts, it died quite quickly, the fatal injury was inch perfect.
From the thicket a figure appeared, a long bow in his left hand. He stepped over a mound of dirt and down towards his kill some fifty yards away. The teenage boy pulled back his hood, his dark brown hair was slicked back over his ears, and his face was gaunt with dark patches under his brown eyes. The young man knelt next to the animal he had shot dead moments ago, behind him came a much smaller figure, a boy half his age, cautiously creeping through the overgrowth of the woods behind the young bowman.
“Is it dead Sveil?” the boy asked.
“Yes, Jarno. My shot was clean.” The teenage lad smirked as he stroked the dead animal's soft fur.
“We cannot prolong the death of the innocent, that’s right isn’t it?” Jarno puzzled.
“That’s right my brother, this animal was not our enemy, but its death was essential to our survival.” Sveildana hooked the bow over his shoulder and stood up to survey his surroundings.
“We should head back, mother will be waiting.” The young boy seemed worried, the eerie woods had affected the six-year-old boy.
“Well, good job I made this shot then, couldn’t return empty-handed, could we?” Sveildana grinned.
The young boy began moving back towards the beaten path that ran through the woods, his elder brother though, had knelt back down by the animal.
“Sorry, my friend.” He ran his hand along its fur, examining the beauty of the unfortunate animal that would become a hearty meal for his family before the end of the day.
He hauled the dead animal over the back of his neck and made his way over to his young sibling, it would be a long trek back towards the snowy kingdom of Leikskalar.
“Tonight we shall eat well my brother.”
“Indeed we shall.” Jarno replied with a bright smile.
It had been almost a week since the last of the meat had been consumed, Sveildana felt physically weak carrying the large carcass, yet, the thought of succulent meat filling his plate made him trudge onwards. The venison would be cooked to the high standard of his mother, it would take time to perfect the meal but it would be worth every hungry passing moment, Sveildana knew this, and so did his little brother.
By the time they had reached the gullet of an entrance into Leikskalar, Sveildana could feel his legs shaking, his muscles twitching with every new step, he had never felt so weak. The narrow path had practically been carved between two huge mountains, their mighty inclines rising high on either side of the sharp stone path. At the precipice of the path, it began to dip down into a valley, a valley that concealed the beautiful and peaceful settlement of Leikskalar.
Vast numbers of wooden buildings lay motionless amidst the blanket of snow that covered every inch of their rooftops. Smoke swirled from a number of the huts, suggesting that most of the village had risen early to stoke the fires in their homes, keeping warm was the biggest battle here in the heights of the coldest settlement and the capital in the Kingdom of Leikskalar. But it was peaceful up here, this was serenity, this was home.
“Will mother be pleased?” young Jarno asked with a shiver of cold striking his words.
Sveil returned a weak smile as he glanced down to where his brother had stopped to blow warm air into his hands.
“I think she will, maybe not at first, but certainly once the smell of roasting meat fills the air.” He continued onwards, carefully placing his footing as the path began to slope sharply down.
Their hut was the largest building at the farthest end of the settlement. A large wooden shack standing an impressive thirty foot high, the roof sloping at slight angles both left and right, whilst the front of the building had a large set of steps and railings leading up to the thick wooden door. The big wooden door was now creaking open as the young boys approached, a dark-haired woman appeared, fresh-faced and smartly dressed. But her face showed signs of anger, arms tightly folded across her chest and her eyes narrowing as she assessed the teenager with the carcass across his weary shoulders.
“Jarno! Inside!” her voice was as sharp as a whip, the tone was one of authority, yet the young boy tried to disobey her structure order.
“But mother, Sveil said that w-" he was cut short, his mother's hand flung up and she pointed to the inside of the hut.
“Now!” She boomed.
Jarno’s shoulders slumped, all defiance, as little as it was faded in an instant. He trudged towards the steps, moving around his mother who stood at the top glaring down at his older sibling.
“This thing is kinda heavy, any chance I could put it down somewhere before my knees give way?” Sveil grinned, stepping forward with laboured shuffles.
“I’ll clear a space in the kitchen.” Sveil’s mother turned on her heel, but her arms remained folded and her back was rigid as she walked.
Once inside, the warmth of the large structure hit Sveil's numb cheeks. Stomping the snow from his boots he then moved to slam the animal carcass across the thick wooden worktop cleared by his mother.
“Get those clothes changed, you are covered in blood.” The woman said quite sternly, and young Sveil could sense that her tone of voice was displeased, and he knew exactly why.
Sveildana moved towards his bed chambers only to get halted when his mother spoke more stern words.
“I want you back out here the instant you are changed, we need words.”
With a gentle sigh, the young man continued on his path, replying with a tone of complete understanding. “As you wish, Mother.”
Sveil rolled his blood-soaked clothes into a ball and tucked them under his arm, he walked back to the kitchen area where his mother had already begun dissecting the animal, preparing a hearty stew that was already beginning to smell like the most delicious meal they had eaten in months. Rich aromas of onions and parsnip filled the air, mixed with gorgeous Leikskalar wine made from last winter's frost berries.
“It’s been a while since we were able to eat venison.” Sveil beamed as he began to inhale deep breaths, taking in the tremendous smells wafting from the pot above the stone fire pit.
“At what cost did this fine animal come? Huh?” His mother jammed the metal ladle into the stew with a splash, letting go of the handle with annoyance.
“Jarno was fine. He had been begging me for weeks to come along, and you were asleep so I j-"
“You just what? Thought to endanger your brother's life? He is six years old.” Jannelle snarled and stabbed the skinning knife into the thick wooden worktop. “And let’s not mention going over my head without my permission or knowledge of this venture?”
“He is alive, isn’t he? I actually think he could be a natural hunter.” Sveil tried not to test his mother’s patience given her current mood, yet had to try and justify his decision.
“This time, yes! You ever pull a trick like that again and I swear to the gods; you won’t know what has hit you, young man.”
Sveil took a step forward, “I wou-"
“No!” the woman bellowed, “Get out of my sight, I will call you when dinner is ready.”
Sveildana balled his fists but knew he was powerless to defy his mother who had now turned her back on him, attending to the stew once more by scooping back up the ladle. The young man huffed in annoyance and turned to go back to his bedding quarters, only halted by a sudden series of heavy thuds upon their doors.
Sveil changed his direction to see who was at the door, but he was halted by his mother. “No, let me.” She moved with caution and suspicion, yet when she flung open the door she was puzzled to see one of her brother’s servants standing on the steps.
“Lady Wirtanen, you must come at once!” his breathing was ragged and the look upon his gaunt face suggested trouble.
“What is it?” she exclaimed.
“It is your brother, my lady. He is not well, he asked for you.” The man gasped for breath after relaying the message.
“What is wrong with him?” Lady Wirtanen reached for a thick dark jacket hanging near the main doors, she pulled the fur-lined garment across her shoulders and began to trail the distressed servant.
“Mother, what can I do to help?” Sveildana cried out after her.
“Look after your little brother, I will send for you in a short while, I must go with Kollsvein.” Lady Wirtanen was panic-stricken, yet tried to remain brave-faced towards her eldest son.
The short journey across the village led them to the Rantogaar, the largest and most central building in Leikskalar, this was where its leader dwelled, the ruler of this settlement, Lady Wirtanen’s slightly older brother.
The grand doors swung open as the guards saw her arrival, a cold gust of wind swept past her legs, ruffling her long regal red skirts. She huddled her hands against opposite arms as she hurried through the doors and out of the cold weather.
“Eshen, my king. What is wrong?” Lady Wirtanen rushed to his side; as she saw her brother in a makeshift cot close to the grand throne of the Rantogaar. He was pale and beads of sweat ran from his brow, the sides of his mouth were lined with thick white saliva. Weakly he raised a hand to touch the hand of his worried sister, he was cold to the touch yet seemed overwhelmed by an invisible burning heat that seared his skin.
“Jannelle!” croaky voiced as he called out her name.
“What happened, brother?” Jannelle knelt and cupped his cold hand with both of hers.
King Eshen could barely respond, his lips were dry and cracked, and his mouth moved but only shallow gasps were audible.
“What happened to him? How long has he been this way?” Jannelle cried out to the village healer who was standing to one side with his fingers interlinked.
“A few hours at most. He had a restless night according to the guards, but we found him like this slumped on the throne.” The healer spoke softly yet clearly, his words were honest and a sense of confusion seemed to have struck all of the King’s servants and loyal subjects.
“Is there nothing you can do?” Jannelle grabbed a damp cloth to mop the brow of her brother.
“I have used all my knowledge to help him, yet I cannot fathom what could have caused this sudden illness.” The healer held out his hands in dismay, unsure what else could be done to ease the suffering of their true-born leader.
The king tried to squeeze the hand of his sister, but he was too weak. He managed a gentle whisper, yet Jannelle could barely hear him, she leant in closer.
“What is it?”
The words came out with a dry rasp, but this time Jannelle heard them much clearer.
“R-rule in m-my stead!”
Jannelle flashed her eyes at her brother as she drew back, her glare then met with Kollsvein and the maids around them, even the healer gave an audible gasp.
“You are going to be fine, Leikskalar is yours now.” Jannelle choked on the words, refusing to accept that King Eshen was deciding that he would not pull through.
He shook his head slowly from side to side, his mouth trembled as he looked at Kollsvein with a look of despair. The ageing close friend of the king was also his advisor, and there had been some sort of sign during the few passing seconds, one that made Kollsvein rush to a small desk in the far corner of the room.
Jannelle watched her brother and put a clean cloth to his mouth when he burst into a fit of violent coughs, a look of horror crossed her face when she saw the thick dark red blood now covering the white linen as she drew it away from his mouth.
Kollsvein returned, placing a rough leather gloved hand upon her shoulder. Jannelle turned to look up at him as he stood directly behind her.
“You should read this.” Kollsvein always spoke harshly, yet his gruff accent had glimmers of sorrow coursing through his words.
“What is it?” the rolled parchment looked relatively new, a dark wax seal kept the paper rolled into a narrow tube, the wax seal had been finalised with the King’s stamp, the mark of Leikskalar, which was the shape of two mountains cut with an axe and sword to divide them.
“King Eshen had me draw this up, and he wanted you to read it in the event of-“ he paused for half a heartbeat. “In the event of his potential departure from this world.”
Jannelle looked to her sickly brother, his eyes half-closing as it seemed he was struggling to stay focused. But she watched him nod in agreement to the words of his dearest friend, his eyes then moving in a ragged line towards the scroll in his sister’s hands.
Jannelle snapped the wax seal, carefully unravelling the paper out with both hands. She began to read quietly, her mouth muttering the words as she took them in, tears practically forming in the corners as she reached the bottom of the parchment. When she was done she let the paper roll back on itself, taking a few moments to gather her thought and words.
“How long have you known? tell me truthfully.” She spoke softly and quickly used the back of her hand to wipe away a tear that was in danger of rolling down her cheek.
Kollsvein spoke for his king, knowing that he must tell the truth to the sister of Leikskalar's ruler. Especially in his presence, he had been instructed to reveal the truth if ever asked.
“Three days, my lady. He had me draw up that document when the first symptoms struck.” His heart was heavy with regret.
“How long does he have?” Jannelle spoke even softer, she could see the Leikskalar king was soaked with fever, his eyes rolling as he tried to stay awake.
This time the healer spoke, his words were equally drenched in sorrow.
“It is difficult to say, our king is strong, but from my experience, most men have not survived the fourth night.”
“And this,” Jannelle held up the rolled scroll, clutching it tightly in her fist. “this is his absolute wish?”
A cold silence struck, only the ragged breathing of their ruler and the crackle of fire filled the room for awkward fleeting moments.
“It is, my lady.” Kollsvein spoke and knelt next to his king, taking his cold clammy hand in his own.
Jannelle stood, moving back from the makeshift bed. She glared at everyone around her, her brother who had been struck by a strange illness, Kollsvein who remained knelt next to the king’s bed. The pale healer stood in silence dressed in long dark robes covering everything but his face. The half dozen maids who stood awaiting further instructions.
Jannelle wiped her hand under her eyes again, removing the tears that were now coming much faster. She looked at Kollsvein yet again, who had now turned to look directly at her from where he was knelt.
“By morning, we may no longer have a king.” He shifted slightly so that he now faced Jannelle. “The gods will require a queen to stand in his place when the time comes.”
The healer and the maids all knelt, bowing their heads as they lowered themselves to the ground in unison.
Jannelle was speechless and clutched the document tighter.