brought molten silver in a crockpot along with all their smithing tools. (It was a magic crockpot able to maintain a temperature of 2000 degrees Fahrenheit.)
The little elves had a bin full of wires, plastic, and other odds and ends. They also had a whiteboard and millions of sticky notes.
The high elves set to work at once. They were making
something they’d made a thousand times before, so they were able to skip the planning phase and get right to work.
The little elves spent the first fifteen minutes talking among themselves, writing on stickies, and adding them to the
whiteboard in neat little rows. Then they broke off and worked individually.
Three were typing away on laptops, one was assembling
something from the materials in the bin, and the fifth was moving sticky notes around and calling for standup meetings every so often.
When at last the timer announced the end of the contest, it was the Christmas elves who were prepared to present first.
They gleefully handed Tivela a shiny touch screen tablet, explaining that it was completely water resistant, and could
withstand pressure up to ten thousand feet below the surface of the sea.
Tivela was delighted. Most technology companies didn’t
take mermaids into account. (At that very moment, her latest cell phone was sitting in a bowl of rice). Her amazement only
increased when they turned on the tablet to see that the elves had programmed an online portal for submitting Christmas requests.
Popular items were suggested and could be ordered with the click of a button.
The portal also had recommendations for donating to
charity in the spirit of the season. They were all environmental charities focused on cleaning up the oceans and protecting endangered wildlife.
It was sleek, intuitive, and no attempt on Eda’s part could produce a bug. The Christmas elves explained that they tested it thoroughly. Eda was especially impressed with their planning, execution, and attention to detail.
The portal was even in compliance with accessibility laws, so Miss Maggie could see everything on the screen.
The high elves presented a pendant. It was designed to
capture the beam of a full moon, so it could be used again during travel on moonless nights. It was one of their most popular items
before the late 1800s when the flashlight was invented.
Sertraline still used one.
“Oh!” Miss Maggie said. “This looks just like the one I got in Heathrow airport. That was a keychain though.”
Tivela thought it would be an excellent tool for night
fishing, but Eda was less than impressed. She thought the cost of production was too high and doubted anyone would buy one
when they could get a flashlight for less than a dollar.
The high elves countered saying that artificial light was useless for keeping goblins away.
“My husband is a goblin!” Miss Maggie gasped
indignantly.
“My ex is a goblin,” Tivela noted. “How much do you want
for this?”
Since this contest would determine the winner of the entire event, Alika called for a quick recess so the judges could deliberate.
Sertraline wasn’t worried. His people were clearly superior.
They only lost the poetry contest because Acetaminophen
offended one of the judges. (Humans were so sensitive.) He
assured himself that if they defeated the Christmas elves in a baking contest, they could defeat them in ANY contest.
It was an agonizing fifteen minutes.
At last everyone was called back to their seats.
The vote was unanimous. The Christmas elves were
declared the winners of the entire event.
Sertraline was in shock.
The contest was over, the little elves victorious. They threw a feast for their guests without a single sugar-free item available.
The elf king wandered the perimeter of the room in silence, staring vacantly as he nibbled the corner of a sugar cookie. It was sweet, too sweet, like Cedar’s personality. He hated it.
He took another bite then patted his hips to make sure they weren’t expanding.
Around the hall the high elves were talking with their small companions. There wasn’t a grim face among them. They were all sitting together making Christmas ornaments, gifts, and paper chains.
As Sertraline patrolled the room, he even saw the rival
teams sitting together talking and laughing, their enmity forgotten. Acetaminophen was sitting with Myrrhy writing
poems for the insides of Christmas cards. Sertraline’s craftsmen were listening to their Christmas counterparts explaining Agile Methodology, and the baking rivals were talking about how they could combine the flavor of Christmas cookies with the health benefits of elven bread.
“Perhaps you have more in common than you think?”
Came Alika’s voice.
Sertraline ignored this and instead grumbled: “What did
they do before the birth of Christ?”
“Don’t bring that up,” Alika said. “It’s the one thing that makes them upset.”
Sertraline thought of the humiliation his people would
continue to face as a result of the outcome. He considered organizing an invasion, but when he observed the happy
conversations taking place around him, he doubted his people would support it.
“How can I allow my people to continue enduring such
disgrace?”
Alika glanced around the room. “I’m beginning to think the issue isn’t as important to them as it used to be.”
The elf king glared. “Who are you to tell me what is and
isn’t important to my people?”
Alika raised an eyebrow and asked with a hint of a smile:
“To your people or just to you?”
Sertraline went red in the face, then breathed deeply so his color returned to normal. He excused himself and left Alika, grumbling under his breath.
Some of Sertraline’s people enjoyed their visit so much,
they chose to stay in the North Pole and work for Santa Claus.
And when the children of Para Sympan opened their gifts
that year, some were made by the hands of Christmas elves and some were made by the hands of high elves (though I suppose technically, they were Christmas elves now too).
The new alliance increased the confusion of non-elvish
people, but for the most part, the high elves no longer cared.
They were proud to be associated with a people so kind and talented as their shorter brethren.
Except for old Sertraline. He returned to his palace as sour as he’d ever been and sat in his council chamber munching sugar cookies until the dreaded month of December was over.
Elves vs. Elves Book Page 2