The Ice Princess

I

"Long, long ago in Neraland, the pious humans built a great tower as an epitome of their fai-"

"Stop that now, Gray. You tell the same fairy tale every time. Sigh, don't you have anything you haven't repeated ad nauseam?" cried the voice of a youth as he rolled his eyes and grunted in annoyance, his freckled expression reflecting the dissatisfaction he felt within.

Up above, a shooting star flashed briefly; as though the blue skies had shed a single tear.

However, for the hectic men and women in the caught in the bustling activity surrounding the streets below with morning clouds and the brilliant rays of the break of dawn, one would simply shrug off it off their mind and dismiss it as a mere trick of the eye.

Beyond the misty clouds below lies the great Kingdom of Haiqin with its towering royal castle that rose above all, the tip of the fortress's highest spires poised like sharp slender lances and swords of knights poised against the heavens. The tall gleaming structure was the embodiment of Haiqin, as it reflected the kingdom's strength and prestige, surrounded by dense curtain walls carved and built from the hardest of granite rock studded with defensive towers and iron gates, patrolled and enforced constantly by its loyal knights and watchful guards.

Further down the paved road past the outer castle gates, the broader and lighter the structures grew, until one would arrive at the central plaza district of the Kingdom of Haiqin, with its marvellous iconic 30-foot-tall water fountain that shimmered with the reflection of the water it sprouted, resembling strings of sparkling silver. There, citizens flocked and walked past the fountain as it stood across the centre of the street where most roads and pathways of the kingdom eventually meet.

As the sunlight poured into the streets and lit up even the dimmest of corridors, the public square was soon bursting with activity as every household started to open their windows to let the fresh morning air in and fellow neighbours began swiping their doorsteps, exchanging greetings and idle remarks as they did so.

Across the streets folks chattered as they walked, and numerous birds fluttered their pearl-white wings up above the arched roofs of the houses and various shops begun opening their doors to set up and sell their wares. Even the fragrant mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread and other delightful pastries from the local bakeries and restaurants only served to further arouse those still struggling to wake up, stirring their appetites.

Along the street-way, the morning market place was busy with vendors whom each hastily prepared their long tables and carts, their evident intentions to make a profit today and earn their coin. The air was full of shouted orders and angry tirades as many impatient shop vendors barked and cursed at their assistant or attender's slow pace in lining up the wares to be displayed properly for the customers as the influx of people soon filled the space in between the stores. The district was soon drowned out by the influx of people mixed with countless voices.

One vendor was encouraging a young lady to buy his brass and silver pots, while further down a merchant couple were selling various dried herbs and spices encased in glass jars containing different herbs such as oregano, rosemary, olives, figs, pistachios and many others. The jeweller with a golden tooth displayed his wide accessories of coloured stones, precious gem necklaces and lucky charms while the fat fishmonger and thin fruit seller were busy arguing with one another as usual, a daily bemusing sight that easily led those around them to grin and chuckle light-heartedly.

Most peculiar however, there was one young store vendor amongst all the determined faces whose eyes were dispirited. The boy was of a short stature, with a chubby round face of auburn brown hair that appeared to be 14 years of age. As he leaned forward against the table using his left hand to support his chin in a dull manner, the vintage signboard hanging high above him bore the sign of a miniature iron battle axe crossed with a sword of equal length, swayed lightly against the gentle breath of the refreshing morning wind.

While the youth leaned on the long table lined in front of the smithy stacked with various sharp swords, polished shields, and others remarkable weapons or equipment laid in plain sight on display, in contrast; an aged figure was seated in a dark room within the interior of the shop walled with shelves filled with books, tied up scrolls and various old scriptures. The smell of cigarette smoke was heavy here, easily reaching out to Mars. 

The desk in front of the elder was stacked with mountains of dusty books dimly lit by a few candles close to him. Held in his right wrinkled hand, Gray was reading a folded old book while the smoke from his wooden cigarette pipe on his cracked lips drifted and swirled around his tall robed body, his long grey beard seemingly merging with the colour of his robes and the surrounding smoke.

Gray mused over the fading writings before him, the book's thin pages and battered cover was torn and yellow, speaking volumes of its age and survival through the passing of time. By all accounts, Gray was more of a reclusive, scholarly figure than his official profession of a smith, spending long hours poring through ancient texts and records in his shelves that stretched back to a bygone age – though the toughened skin and powerful build concealed beneath his robes hinted that he was more than capable of managing the hammer and anvil of the fiery forge situated at the back of the shop, despite his old age and appearance.

"A Fairy Tale?" Gray said ruefully in responds to the boy's statement. His voice was hoarse with age, which served to made his tone more stern and harsh. The faint smile of self-mockery played across Gray's face. With his left hand, Gray swiftly removed the pipe from his mouth as he shook his head from side-to-side in a downcast manner. "I can assure you, Mars, that this is no fairy tale. Our own younger generation denies our history; what has the world come to?"

The young boy outside the shop, Mars, frowned at Gray's reply. More ramblings of an old codger, well there might be some truth in his claims but what evidence can he give that would convince me otherwise? Mars thought. "Over two centuries have passed since Adam's Heavenly War had ended old man, and the man who claims to have seen an angel is also said to be over two hundred years old," vented Mars in a single breath. Tilting his head back slightly towards Gray's direction, Mars's next question was asked with a more serious tone, with a faint trace of fear and reverence. "Now tell me; Could Ostin actually have lived that long?"

Gray did not reply at first. He simply leaned back against his wooden chair, staring at the vast archives of a bygone time before him thoughtfully as he smokes his pipe once more to strengthen his resolve, blinking his eyes several times as he flipped through the yellow pages while exhaling the smoke slowly. His eyes were distant, as though he was in a profound trace, seeking to recall past events and grasp the details buried somewhere within his memory to muster a proper answer to Mar's question. Mars least expected him to answer.

"I know only what I read in books," Gray replied honestly, in a seemingly matter-of-fact tone. He holds up the book he was reading, which he then used as a reference. "... and this one right here tells me that the true flesh of angels frequently lived up to five hundred years... and more..."

Without putting down the tattered book in hand, he then opted to change the subject as he heard Mars's scoff from the entrance of the smithy. Gray merely shrugged his shoulders with a sigh of resignation. "Well then, since you do not want to hear this story," offered Gray, "how about one on the Six greatest fighters this world has ever seen?"

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"Nah... fed up with that too." Mars replied monotonously, putting little effort to conceal his weary tone as a white bird flew past him, leaving it feathers falling in its wake. As Mars surveyed his surroundings with little interest, he suddenly recalled a certain matter that had piqued his mind for the past few days. "Hey, what about the Ice Princess? I find that one interesting. Do you have one on her?"

Hearing this, Gray abruptly gave a blunt reply. "I am sorry lad. There are no scriptures on her." His continued silence further showed that they would dwell no further into the matter. However, the tone in which they spoke of the "Ice Princess" carried a hint of nervousness and uncertainty, like an invisible silent foreboding taboo that loomed over them.

In responds to Gray's silence, Mars raised his left eye brow slightly as he turned his worried gaze toward a large cluster of people gathered at the central district square where the water fountain was located. After several minutes, Mars registered the evident fear in the eyes of the assembly, their frantic activity as they lifted sign-boards painted in letters red as blood and ragged shouts spoke volumes. The voices that filled the air sounded to Mars like shrill screams that bordered along the precipice of desperation. 

For there to be a gathering at the iconic fountain of Haiqin was nothing unusual. But this, Mars felt, this was different. Perhaps he was influenced by the atmosphere, for Mars now felt his chest tighten in a twinge of uneasiness. He felt the air that was ripe with tension and the sight of the angry mob only served to deepen his unease. Mars knew for a fact that this civil unrest before him was not limited only to the fountain, but was spreading throughout the Kingdom of Haiqin like weeds, growing wider with each passing day.

The dissent began a few days ago, as Mars recalled, or perhaps longer. It first started with a few isolated incidents, but it soon worked its way through the outer territories and borders surrounding the edge of the Kingdom slowly but steadily like a creeper vine, digging itself poison deep into the hearts and crippling their minds with fear.

Upon a closer view, Mars saw the words written in red held up by a hooded woman; "No War". A man with messed hair was holding a banner that stated: "HAND OVER THE FREAK". Most raised banner with the word "FREAK" written over them, while some raised their gleaming swords, most raised their voices and fists, jolting the white birds sitting peacefully atop the water fountain. 

Mars drew in a deep breath to calm himself and sighed. "Gray..." Mars began in a slow, grim tone. "Only fourteen days are left. The people are growing increasingly restless. It seems the King will never hand the Ice Princess over..."

"Fourteen days left to what?" a hoarse voice asked Mars without him realizing it himself, as though speaker had appeared before him in plain sight out of thin air like a ghost. Before he could respond, Mars's eyes widen in shock as he inhaled sharply, his back muscles tensed as Mars's heart hammered in a fast and sudden rhythm as though to burst free from his chest when he saw the outlandish figure that questioned him.

"And who is the 'Ice Princess'?" continued the voice as its owner fully emerged from the passing influx of people, approaching Mars with steady, light footsteps, ignoring his unease. As he stood directly in front of the short table, his shadow loomed over Mars's face, so wide that it nearly covered Mars's entire stature. Looking upward, Mars's eyes met a shadowed pair of purple eyes framed by a dark face. How did this strange looking man get so close to me? I didn't see or feel his presence amongst the crowd at all!

As Mars contemplated how was it that he did not detect the man's presence, his eyes adjusted to the piercing rays of sunlight shining behind the stranger's stature and realized that the features he saw was not flesh, but a face wrapped from every inch in faded, darkened bandages.

Flabbergast, his left hand instantly released its hold on his chin as Mars jerked his head up and tried to further himself away from the man that was fast approaching him, stuttering as he did so. "Y-you-you... you are not from t-these parts, are you?" gasped Mars, his voice quivering at this man's fearsome appearance.

What Mars had mistaken for hair were, in fact, entangled linen. As Mars studied the stranger further; whose gender he assumed was a male based on his voice and the outline of his silhouette, he realized that the man was covered entirely in tight grey bandages from his head to his chest, even his arms and fingers tips were encased in the same fabric. Focusing his eyes, Mars noticed that intermixed amongst the countless yards of grey were a few discoloured yellow bandages with intricate swirling lines that resembled clouds. 

Trailing down his gaze, Mars identified that this man was no stranger to weapons as he carried a two-handed grip, two-arm-long single edged straight backsword without a guard, both handle and blade were enshrouded in cloth for unknown reasons, much like the man that carried it on his back. Paired with it was a curved knife that stretched as long as his arm. Unlike its counterpart, the dagger is sheathed in an amber scabbard and fixed with an ornate bronze pommel. It is strapped to the thin belt on the man's sash, wrapped around his loose slim fitting lower garment that stretched from his waist to the tip of his knees.

For a moment, Mars forgot about the man's rugged appearance and his mind was immersed on the two swords that the man carried. With his experience in numerous weaponry, he mused that the design and shape of the wide curved blade kept on the man's rear hip seemed like that of a dagger hilt combined with a miniature scythe blade. However, a part of Mars questioned himself as to the reason why the straight backsword was sheath in cloth instead of a proper sword scabbard.

"I am not from far, only a neighbouring kingdom," came the reply to Mars's question. The sunlight began the shine brightly once more beyond the west clouds as the wind begun to pick up again, blowing a gentle breath of cool air across the street that caused white birds to scatter and snapped Mars out of his daze. Some of the man's loose-end bandages flickered along the breeze as he voiced his curiosity once more with renewed interest. "So what is happening here to agitate the people so?"

In responds, Mars's face of shock and confusion rapidly turned into one of disbelief. Does he live under a rock? pondered Mars. However, this man, a warrior judging from his garb, did mention that he was from a neighbouring kingdom. Perhaps he originated from one of the warring kingdoms outside of Haiqin, as it would reflect his choice of weapons and strange attire as when compared to the leather armour and longswords largely favoured by the subjects of Haiqin, reasoned Mars to himself.

"You don't know?" intoned Mars. Having calmed down slightly, Mars took a breath as he rests both of his elbows on the table. "You'd think such a fantastical tale would spread like wildfire..." began Mars. He felt a small thrill of excitement as he soon repeated of the wide spread rumours he heard by word of mouth to the warrior. "It is said that some two decades ago, His Majesty King Haiqin found a baby encased in ice on a hunting trip. He took her in as his own daughter, and because of her pale hair and pale eyes as well as he icy cradle the King dubbed her the Ice Princess."

Mars continued. "Well, it was all kept hush-hush... but some months ago there was a supposed leak, and the rumours reached Ostin's ears. It went downhill from there. He called her a freak, a harbinger of destruction that herald the second coming of the Feathered Race that nearly decimated humanity two centuries ago!"

Suddenly, both Mars and the warrior paused as they turned their gaze sharply in responds to the spike in volume of shouts that echoed from the water fountain just a short distant away from their location. It would seem as though the numbers within the growing mob had grown near a hundred, as another man wearing a white turban stride past the smithy and headed towards the gathering with his fist raised in the air as he shouted along the others.

Returning his attention to Mars, the warrior knit his eyebrows and folded his manacled arms across his chest. "A freak?"

"Yes," agreed Mars, ignoring the fact that the man was wearing a pair of broken iron manacles. "They say she has pointed ears, with silver hair as metal and eyes blue as sapphires! Also, they spoke of green skin and four arms and four legs. But that part really makes my skin crawl..." As he gestured with his index finger to describe her, Mars depicted the Ice Princess as a malformed ant-like insect with a pair of split blue eyes, metal hair with green pointed ears and gleaming green scales roaring with multiple arms out stretched, doing so while wearing a gold crown on her head.

"What the hell..." frowned the warrior, but he still listened to the rest of the words Mars spoke never the less.

Mars sighed. "Anyway, Ostin insists that our king hands her over to him by the end of the month, or else the Templars will 'come get her themselves', those were Ostin's own words" Gesturing towards the mob, his calm demure vanished as Mars next words were laced with dread. "Now do you see why the people are so anxious? War is coming, and we are sure to lose against an organisation as formidable as the Templar."

As he finished, Mars found that the warrior gave an almost imperceptible nod, almost to himself, as if something had been confirmed for him. He seemed to be momentarily lost in thought as he muttered to himself quietly. "So... she is the key to the door."

"What?" asked Mars. He could have sworn that he heard him say something underneath him breath. Something about a key?

"Nothing," the warrior told him, ignoring Mars's question. The warrior inwardly cursed himself as he realized he subconsciously gave voice to his private thoughts. Some things should not be spoken or heard by the ears of others, for better or worse.

Unfolding his arms to his sides, the warrior looked at Mars with decisive gaze. His next words were hush, almost nonchalant. "Get me two horses, fatty." he paused for a moment. "As well as clothes, some food, and I will need you to guide me to the castle while steering clear of the crowd."

"I... I'm just a blacksmith, I can't leave here..." protested Mars.

The next moment, the warrior swiftly placed a heavy metallic bar the size of a palm on the table in front of Mars. "This enough?"

Recognizing the familiar glint of yellow, Mars used the fingers of his left hand and scarily raised the precious metal to his eyes, trembling as he did so.

"This is... Gold?!" he exclaimed loudly in naked disbelief.

Immersed in his sudden fortune, he did not notice the strange warrior smiled faintly for the first time since they met today.

Suddenly, Mars felt an ill premonition that... something far worse was going to happen.

But the alarms of such insights were quickly drowned by the weight of gold in his palm.