- Chapter 2: Test of courage -

"Little one": that's what they called him.

Torvid and Alma, that is. Everyone else just called him "witch-boy". He definitely preferred "little one", especially when Alma said it. There was just something about the tenderness in her voice that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, despite the freezing temperature. She wasn't his mother, no, but she was the closest thing to a mother he had ever since he was abandoned outside of Nordberg.

He could still remember his mother – his real mother, that is. Not so much her face or her voice, but the way she made him feel whenever she would pick him up and hold him close to her chest. That vivid sensation of warmth and comfort, overwhelming as he lay there nestled against her bosom, was something that he desperately craved, but desperately tried to pretend like he didn't. Weakness was a luxury he couldn't afford around others.

And so he clung to Alma, for she was the closest thing to a mother he had: Kind, caring, soft and understanding. She didn't seem to mind his blue skin or glowing eyes. She loved him like a son, regardless of what others thought or said, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he loved her too. Her food, her hugs, her singing: they were all a part of what made this cold, dreary place feel like home.

Torvid was also a part of it. It had been almost a year now since he found him outside the gates of Nordberg. He still didn't know how the old man ever managed to convince the townsfolk to let him stay, but he did – at the expense of his own reputation, it would seem. Of course, just because they let him stay didn't mean that he was welcome. That much was obvious. Even to this day, everyone seemed to avoid him like the plague.

The other kids were no better. Not a day went by without him getting hit by a snowball or called some kind of name. Ever since Bjork made the mistake of tripping him during a game of ice tag, earning himself a swift and thorough beating, they knew better than to include him in their games too. From what he had heard, they had even gone so far as to build a secret clubhouse that everyone was welcome in, except for him!

The grown-ups said nothing, of course. They were just as bothered by his presence as the kids were, if not more. In fact, they seemed pretty happy to know that their kids were smart enough to stay away from "that creepy witch-boy and his weird, glowing eyes".

Save for Torvid and Alma, there was only one person in Nordberg who didn't seem to hate him so far.


Her name was Kelda.

He didn't know much about her, except that her father was a hunter and she liked to explore. While the other kids were busy playing in the clubhouse, he would often find her on the outskirts of town, chasing rabbits and looking for gnomes.

The first time he saw her, he was out working with Torvid. They had just finished setting up the tanning racks outside the house when a pack of hunters came sauntering up the street. One of the hunters – a large, burly man with a thick, red moustache and the grace of a walrus – had approached Torvid.

"Good catch today?" Torvid asked, skipping past any sort of formalities, as was the Nordbergian way.

"Oh, you better believe it!" the burly hunter replied in a husky, but cheerful voice. "Feast yer eyes on this beauty!"

Without missing a beat, the burly man proceeded to present Torvid with a bundle of fur that looked almost as big as the witch-boy himself!

"Killed myself a grizzly the other day!" the hunter barked proudly, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Bastard nearly nabbed my foot, but I got the last laugh!"

While Torvid congratulated the hunter on his kill, the witch-boy remained silent. He knew better than to draw attention to himself, hence why most of the villagers seemed to think he was a mute. Letting his eyes wander, he soon found himself staring at the club hanging from the hunter's belt. The weapon, he noted, was almost as big as he was. Just the thought of smacking that thing across the head of a seal or a rabbit made his fingers itch.

He had always dreamed of becoming a great warrior, but he wouldn't mind starting out as a hunter.

His morbid curiosity with the weapon was soon forgotten, however, as his focus suddenly shifted to a strange tuft of red fur peeking out from behind the burly hunter. Tilting his head curiously, the witch-boy nearly leapt with fright as the red tuft suddenly started moving. Steeling himself from the initial shock, he proceeded to watch as a small, freckled face peeked out from behind the hunter's coat.

A girl.

Her face was round and soft around the edges, framed by waves of red hair and a pair of white ear muffs. Her eyes, a vibrant shade of blue, looked big and curious as they stared at him from afar. Her cheeks were flushed, though whether a sign of cold or shyness, he couldn't tell. She looked to be about his age, yet he couldn't recall ever seeing her before. What surprised him the most, though, was her expression. Most people would usually sneer or glare at him whenever they saw him. This one, while certainly weary, seemed more curious than anything.

It was at this point that the hunter, for some unfortunate reason, decided to notice him.

"Still letting that thing hang around, are you?" he asked Torvid, gesturing towards the boy.

His question earned him a poisonous glare from the witch-boy. The hunter responded in kind as he motioned for the girl to get back behind him.

"He ain't caused us any troubles yet!" Torvid replied in a firm, but polite voice. "In fact, he's been rather 'elpful! 'Aven't you, little one?"

The witch-boy didn't respond. He was much too busy glaring holes into the hunter's head.

"Oh, just you wait!" the hunter said in an ominous tone. "It won't be long before he starts bringing all sorts o' trouble your way, mark my word!"

Torvid looked displeased at the hunter, but decided, once again, to keep his thoughts to himself.

The thought of snatching the club from the fat man's belt and pounding him over the head with it did occur to the witch-boy – several times, in fact – but he ultimately decided against it. Not that he cared what anyone in Nordberg would think about him if he did, but the thought of what it might bring down on Torvid and Alma was enough to stay his hand for now. Besides, he didn't want to give this bag of blubber the satisfaction of being proven right.

"Is that all, then?" Torvid asked and smiled in a weak attempt to mask his bitterness.

"Aye, for now!" the hunter replied, hoisting his equipment back onto his shoulder as he extended a hand towards the curious little creature waiting by his side. "Come on, Kelda, let's go!"

Taking her father by the hand, Kelda spared one last, curious glance at the witch-boy as they both turned to leave. Standing by the wayside, the witch-boy proceeded to gaze after them as they disappeared down the road, smiling at each other. Needless to say, he didn't care much for the hunter. The girl, on the other hand... intrigued him.


Three days later found him outside the gates of Nordberg. Being a loner with nothing better to do, he would often spend his days wandering the outskirts of town, climbing trees or playing around with sticks, pretending like he was a great warrior fighting off hordes of wolves and raiders.

He was just about to land the killing blow on an imaginary yeti when he noticed a small group of children leaving through the gates. An all too familiar voice told him that Bjork was among them.

"Now don't you kids wander off too far!" one of the villagers shouted after them as they left.

The children responded in a chorus of affirmative shouts and promises to be back before dinner. With that, they all set off towards the hunting grounds. Watching from afar, the witch-boy was just about to return to his fantasies when a familiar tuft of red hair suddenly caught his attention. Snapping his head back towards the group, he managed to catch another glimpse of it just before they disappeared behind the crags.

Suddenly the idea of fighting an imaginary yeti didn't seem all that urgent any more.

And so he proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes tracking them through the wilderness. The snow made it easy enough, though not nearly as easy as Bjork constantly shouting for the others to "keep up". Over rocks and under trees they went, further and further into the frozen landscape, until the trees finally gave way for a large clearing. Peeking out from behind the trees, the witch-boy watched as they all came to a stop in front of a large cliff.

"Dere it is!" Bjork exclaimed as he pointed to a crack in the wall, large enough to fit a canoe. "This is the place I was tellin' you about!"

"So you're sayin' we have to go down dere?" one of the boys asked, trying and failing to mask his own trepidation. "Seems... dangerous!"

"Well, yeah! Otherwise it wouldn't be a test of courage, now would it?" Bjork answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I don't wanna go down dere!" one of the girls piped up. "What if there's a wolf in dere?!"

"There ain't no wolves in dere!" Bjork countered. "It's just a bunch o' ice! Now who's going in first?"

His question was left hanging in the air as the kids began to exchange nervous looks amongst each other.

"Well... why don't you go first, Bjork?" one of the boys suggested. "This was your idea, after all!"

"Be-because I've already done it before!" Bjork insisted in a not-so-brave voice. "So I don't need to do it again!"

From behind the trees, the witch-boy's eyes narrowed as he watched them argue amongst themselves, neither of them willing to enter first and yet neither of them willing to admit it. Turning his eyes over to Kelda, the witch-boy found her staring at the cave intently, clenching and unclenching her gloved fists, as if to build up her own resolve. As the boys continued to argue, Kelda's expression only seemed to grow more determined by the second.

Finally, having built up enough courage, the girl proceeded to surprise everyone by stomping her foot against the snowy ground and, without so much as a word, march up to the crevice and climb inside.

"Wh- Kelda?! Wait!" one of the girls shouted after her, but to no avail.

Silence fell upon the clearing as they all watched her disappear into the darkness. Tightening his grip around the tree, the witch-boy stared intently after her. Part of him wanted to go in after her, but he knew better than to risk it. Not because he cared about what the others might think, but because he didn't want to spook her – or she might just end up hating him like everyone else!

And so he decided to wait, leaning back against the tree before sliding down the trunk and planting himself among the roots. It was about as comfortable as one could get out here. In the canopy above, several unseen birds could be heard singing to each other. Of what, he couldn't tell, but he could only imagine it was something stupid.

His head shot up as soon as he heard the scream. Scrambling to his feet, the witch-boy peeked around the tree just in time to watch Kelda emerge from the cavern, arms raised in a defensive stance as she backed away from the dark crevice.

"What's wrong?!" Bjork demanded as the other kids began to mirror her concern.

His answer came sooner than expected as three savage-looking little goblinoid creatures suddenly emerged from the crack in the wall, snarling and barking angrily at the terrified group of children. The witch-boy's eyes widened at the sight. He had heard tales of midwinter demons living beneath Nordberg, but to actually see them with his own eyes – all muscle and sinew and jagged teeth – was something else entirely! Their yellow eyes seemed to gleam with evil intent as they stepped towards the cowering youngsters, claws bared and ready to strike.

"Demons!" one of the boys yelled out, prompting one of the girls to shriek in fear as the whole group turned on their heels and ran for the woods.

Normally, the witch-boy might have found the whole situation quite entertaining, were it not for one small, but crucial detail: Kelda wasn't running.


Kelda couldn't move.

No matter how much she willed her legs to turn and run, she just couldn't get them to obey, as if her feet had suddenly become frozen to the ground. Her mind, which up until this point had been filled with thoughts of courage and bravery, was now a jumbled mess of fear and desperation. Any hunter's wisdom passed down from her father was instantly erased from her mind as she watched the horrid-looking creatures snarl at her.

"Go away!" she screamed, her voice cracking with fear as she raised her arms in a desperate attempt to make herself seem bigger and stronger than she was.

The creatures only blinked confused at her feeble display of dominance before breaking into a horrid cackle. Dread gripped the young girl's heart as she watched the closest creature raise its claws and charge at her with a wicked grin. Kelda screamed as she stumbled and fell, desperately scrambling to get away from the snarling mass of teeth and claws bearing down on top of her.

The creature yelped as a freshly packed snowball scattered across its head with tremendous force, knocking it back towards the cavern. Seeing their vanguard take a backwards dive into the snow, the two remaining creatures shared a dumbfounded look before turning to stare at the source of the snowy projectile. Pushing herself off the ground, Kelda's eyes followed suit.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, wrapped in cloth and animal furs, armed with nothing but a branch and a silent look of determination in his eyes, stood none other than the witch-boy.

Kelda's relief was vivid, albeit short-lived as the remaining creatures began to charge towards the newcomer, screaming bloody murder.

Gripping his makeshift club tightly, the witch-boy braced himself. It was no imaginary yeti, but he would make short work of it either way!

No sooner had the first creature come within batting-range before he swung. The sound of wood against bone rang out as the branch connected with the creature's skull, sending it flying past the witch-boy in a less than graceful arc. The second creature followed shortly, swinging its claws wildly at his face. Despite his best efforts to hold it off, the young boy quickly found himself on the back foot.

His heart sank in his chest as he felt his heel connect with a hidden root, causing his world to plummet as he fell onto his back. Wasting no time, the creature leapt on top of him with a wicked grin. The stench of its breath was enough to make him gag as he struggled desperately to escape its gnashing teeth. The prospect of imminent death wasn't lost on the witch-boy as he felt the creature wrap its bony fingers around his throat and squeeze.

Surely, this would be the end of him. All because he couldn't stand to watch a girl with curious eyes get torn to shreds by a pack of savage goblins.

Little did he realize the feeling was mutual.

"Leave 'im alone!" Kelda screamed as she leapt onto the creature's back, grabbing its ears and pulling on them like there was no tomorrow.

The creature howled like a sickly wolf as it began to shake and shuffle furiously, dancing around the clearing in an desperate attempt to throw her off. But Kelda didn't yield, even as tears began to prick her eyes and her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. She had found her courage again and for as long as she had it, she wasn't going to stop.

Pushing himself off the ground, the witch-boy watched as the young girl finally lost her grip and slipped into the snow. The creature growled angrily as it turned towards her with a burning hatred in its eyes. Wasting no time, the witch-boy leapt to his feet. Raising his makeshift weapon, he proceeded to aim at the creature's legs this time, taking out one of its knees before backhanding the club across its chin. The sound of splintering wood marked the end of the struggle as Kelda looked up just in time to watch the final creature fall before the witch-boy.

Breathing heavily from the brief but deadly encounter, the boy proceeded to poke the dormant creature with his club.

No reaction.

Satisfied, he turned his focus over to Kelda, only to find himself on the receiving end of a intense, blue-eyed stare. Seeing her eyes upon him, the witch-boy promptly froze. He was all too familiar with people glaring at him, but for someone to look upon him with such a blatant expression of awe and admiration was entirely new to him. It made him jittery with excitement, yet slightly terrified at the same time.

"You... you saved me!" Kelda mumbled in silent awe, her cheeks flushed red in a mixture of cold, exhaustion and... something else.

The witch-boy didn't answer. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed suddenly, pointing to his arm.

Glancing down, the witch-boy realized that she was right. It wasn't a deep wound, mind you, just a couple of scratches across his left arm. Deep enough to draw blood, but not enough to drain him. Such a small wound could wait until he got back to Nordberg.

Kelda seemed to disagree.

Before he even knew what was happening, she was standing at his side, inspecting his wound with a grim look on her face. Startled by her sudden appearance, the witch-boy flinched, but a firm grip on his forearm prevented him from escaping. Then, without so much as a word, the girl reached into her winter coat and produced a piece of white cloth – a handkerchief, from the looks of it – which she proceeded to tie around his wounded arm.

"I-I haven't used it yet, so it should be clean!" she mumbled, her sky-blue eyes refusing to meet his own.

Taken aback, the witch-boy simply stood and watched as she worked her tiny hands around the knot, until he finally felt the handkerchief tighten around his arm.

Taking a step back, the witch-boy stared at the makeshift bandage in silent wonder. He couldn't even remember the last time someone outside of his own family – adopted or otherwise – had treated him this kindly. Already, the blood had begun to soak through the white cloth, turning it dark and crimson. Despite himself, he couldn't help but wonder what her parents would say if they knew their daughter had used her precious handkerchief to patch up the local witch-boy.

His train of thought was soon interrupted as he felt a pair of gloved hands grasp his own.

Startled, he turned, only to find a familiar tuft of red hair staring him in the face. Slowly, he watched as Kelda raised her head, revealing a pair of soft, blue eyes and a smile that could light up all of Nordberg. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes still wet with tears, her ear muffs slightly crooked on her head. Even so, the witch-boy couldn't imagine a more beautiful sight than that of her smile.

A smile meant for him and him alone.

Alas, it was only a matter of time before the witch-boy came to his senses, causing his whole face to light up like a rose-coloured firework beneath all the fabric. Gripped by panic, the young boy promptly withdrew his hand and bolted back to Nordberg.

"W-wait!" Kelda shouted after him as she watched him disappear among the trees.

Placing a hand on her chest, the young girl marvelled silently at the rapid pace of her own heartbeat. Young as she was, there was no mistaking this feeling, Kelda realized, as she smiled to herself softly.

"I think I like you."


Later that evening, the witch-boy sat patiently as Alma bound his wounds in fresh bandage. He endured her lecture – not once, but twice – about the dangers of roaming too far into the wilderness. In the end, he never did tell her what happened or where he found that blood-soaked handkerchief. That little secret, just like her smile, was his and his alone – to keep and cherish.