Kell's Legend

silhouette, beaming, kicking snow from her boots.
    “Hello, Grandpa!”
    “Nienna.” He moved to her and she hugged him, the snow in her long brown hair damping his grey beard. He took a step back, holding her at arm’s length. “My, you grow taller by the day, I swear!”
    “It’s all that fine broth.” She peered over his shoulder, inquisitively. “Keeps me fit and strong. What have you cooked today?”
    “Come on, take off your coat and you can have a bowl. It’s vegetable; beef is still too expensive after the cattle-plague in the summer, although I’m guaranteed a side in two or three weeks. From a friend of a friend, no?” He gave a broad wink.
    Removing her coat, Nienna edged to the oak table and cocked one leg over the bench, straddling it. Kell placed a hand-carved wooden bowl before her, and she reached eagerly for the spoon as Kell sliced a loaf of black nut-bread with a long, curved knife.
    “It’s good!”
    “Might need some more salt.”
    “No, it’s perfect!” She spooned greedily, wolfing her broth with the eagerness of hunger.
    “Well,” said Kell, sitting opposite his granddaughter with a smile which split his wrinkled, bearded face, making him appear younger than his sixty-two years. “You shouldn’t be so surprised. I am the best cook in Jalder.”
    “Hmm, maybe, but I think it could do with some beef,” said Nienna, pausing, spoon half raised as she affected a frown.
    Kell grinned. “Ach, but I’m just a poor old soldier. Couldn’t possibly afford that.”
    “Poor? With a fortune stashed under the floor?” said Nienna, head down, eyes looking up and glinting mischievously. “That’s what mother says. Mother says you’re a miser and a skinflint, and you hide money in a secret stash wrapped in your stinky socks under the boards.”
    Kell gave a tight smile, some of his humour evaporating. “Your mother always was one for compliments.” He brightened. “Anyway, my girl, you’re the cheeky monkey here! With your tricks and cheeky words.”
    “I’m a bit old for you to keep calling me that, grandpa.”
    “No, lass, you’re still a little girl.” He leant forward, and ruffled her hair. She scowled in distaste.
    “Grandpa! I am not a girl anymore! I’m nearly seventeen!”
    “You’ll always be a little girl to me. Now eat your broth.”
    They ate in silence, the only sound that of fire crackling through logs as the wind outside increased in ferocity, kicking up eddies of snow and howling mournfully along frosted, cobbled streets. Nienna finished her broth, and circled her bowl with the last of the black bread. She sat back, sighing. “Good! Too much salt, but good all the same.”
    “As I said, the best cook in Jalder.”
    “Have you ever seen a monkey? Really?” she asked suddenly, displaying a subtle hint of youth.
    “Yes. In the deep jungles of the south. It’s too cold up here for monkeys; I suppose they’re fond of their bananas.”
    “What’s a banana?”
    “A soft, yellow fruit.”
    “Do I really look like one?”
    “A fruit, or a monkey?”
    She smacked his arm. “You know what I mean!”
    “A little,” said Kell, finishing his own broth and chewing thoughtfully. His teeth were paining him again. “There is a likeness: the hairy face, the fleas, the fat bottom.”
    “Grandpa! You don’t speak to a lady like that! There’s this thing we learnt in school, it’s called eti…ettick…”
    “Etiquette.” He ruffled her hair again. “And when you’re grown up, Nienna, then I’ll treat you like agrown-up.” His smile was infectious. Nienna helped to clean away the bowls. She stood by the window for a few moments, staring out and down towards the distant factories and the market.
    “You fought in the south jungles, didn’t you, Grandpa?”
    Kell felt his mood instantly sour, and he bit his tongue against an angry retort. The girl doesn’t realise, he chided himself. He took a deep breath. “Yes. That was a long time ago. I was a different person back then.”
    “What was it like? Fighting, in the army, with King Searlan? It must have been so…romantic!”
    Kell snorted. “Romantic? The dung they fill your head with in school these days. There’s nothing romantic about watching your friends slaughtered. Nothing heroic about seeing crows on a battlefield squabbling over corpse eyes. No.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Battles are for fools.”
    “But still,” persisted Nienna, “I think I’d like to join the army.