The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  Holly’s face crumpled. She gave a little mew of fear and pressed back against the cold floor, her tiny arms flailing weakly through the air.

  Nicholas, imprisoned in his frozen shell, felt part of his soul turn dark with rage.

  “Perfect, my dear,” purred Herrikhan, busily extracting the snow heart from its container. “Splendid.” Holding the mass between his thumb and forefinger, he reached toward her. Somehow her soft gown seemed to dissolve around his fingers and, before her parents’ horrified, helpless gazes, he pressed the ice-cold heart deep into her chest, his fingers disappearing into her flesh and then emerging clean, holding nothing.

  The weak cries stopped. Surprised into silence by the cold new center of herself, Holly lay still. Herrikhan watched her searchingly for a moment and then stood, a twisted smile cracking across his face. “That should suffice. Your heart is encased—all its purity and compassion will be preserved,” he spat, “until you are fully grown and ready to be married—to me.” He cast a contemptuous glance at Holly. “But don’t get above yourself, miss, for you are nothing but a vessel, a squirming vessel, that will eventually become useful to me. I regret to inform you that I am unmoved by our engagement”—he bowed—“and if I could throw you from that window to the stone terrace below without losing my chance at freedom, I would do so immediately, just for the sake of the expression on your daddy’s face, my future bride.” Herrikhan laughed, thinking of it, and prodded the baby with his scaly toe. “However, self-control is my watchword now, isn’t it, my dear? And I shall simply make do with the expression on your father’s face right now.” He flicked his fingers—one, two, three—toward Nicholas, Viviana, and Sofya.

  Holding the mass between his thumb and forefinger, he reached toward her.

  Freed, the three flew to Holly and lifted her from the cold floor, cuddling her and comforting her. Viviana covered the little face with kisses and tears, pressing gently on her small limbs to reassure herself that her daughter was still whole. Nicholas bent over the tiny figure in his wife’s arms, his eyes filled with tears.

  Sofya was the first to recover. She rose slowly to her feet and fixed her wide black eyes on Herrikhan’s icy gray ones. So filled with disgust was her look that the warlock took an uncertain step backward.

  “You can’t do anything to me,” he said shrilly. “I’m immortal!”

  “You think I wish to kill you?” she said, smiling. “I will let you do that yourself.” She took a step toward him.

  “A fine godmother you are,” Herrikhan said, licking his dry lips nervously. “You didn’t offer much in the way of protection tonight, did you? I cursed her and you just stood there.”

  “I did not know which curse you would choose until it was too late,” Sofya said, stepping closer, her eyes still on his. “Does that make you feel powerful?”

  “I am powerful!” he protested, his voice rising. “I got here, didn’t I? I brought fear to the Land of the Immortals, didn’t I? And you just froze, you and that fool they call king!” Nicholas looked sharply up from Holly, his mouth curling in contempt. “Oh yes, give me your regal look,” screamed Herrikhan, “but you didn’t act much like a king tonight, did you, Nickie? I shut your whole country down, and if you think it’s over, you’re even more of a fool than I thought! Because I will win!” He pointed a clawlike finger at Holly, held close in Viviana’s arms. “I’ll have her heart, and then I’ll be free, and then—then—I’ll grind this place to dust under my heel!”

  “Wisdom is never without power,” Sonya replied. “You know that the child must choose to go with you of her own free will.”

  “I’ll crush her will,” he retorted quickly. “In due time I’ll crush her will completely, and then she’ll be mine without a murmur.”

  Sofya shook her head. “Love will prevail, Herrikhan, just as it always has.”

  “I remember one time that it didn’t,” the warlock snapped. “Now, I’d love to stay and relive our past, my dear, but I must be on my way. My birds need feeding,” he snickered with a glance toward Nicholas.

  Nicholas rose slowly. “Get out,” he said in a low voice. “Get out before I’m tempted—” He raised one arm.

  With a little bark of terror, Herrikhan spun himself frantically and dissolved into a cloud of flea-colored particles that swirled into nothingness. Nicholas stood staring at the faint, greenish ring of mucilage that the warlock had left behind.

  “Nicholas! There’s something wrong with Holly!” cried Viviana. “She’s pale and gasping, or—or—”

  “Take off those blankets,” ordered Sofya, flying to her side. Quickly they stripped off the cozy blankets that Viviana had just finished wrapping around the baby. With each layer they removed, Holly seemed to breathe more easily, and when she lay once again clad only in her thin gown, the glow returned to her cheeks. In a few moments, she was gurgling companionably to the ceiling above her head.

  “What happened?” Viviana asked Sofya.

  The goddess looked suddenly tired. She sat down rather heavily on a soft chair. “Her heart is made of snow now,” she began. “You saw it happen. It will beat like our hearts, keeping Holly alive, provided it remains cold—frozen, as a matter of fact. It is imperative that the snow remains frozen, for if it melts, Holly will die.” Nicholas and Viviana stared at her in horror. “I’m sorry, my friends. There is no other way to tell you. What happened just now is an example of what will happen if Holly is too warm. Her heart will soften and skip; she will grow weak and faint and gasp for air. Rest easy,” she comforted them, “Holly does not feel the cold upon her skin. To her, it is now comfortable—and comforting—to live in a frozen world. But you must take care. No blankets, no fires, no heat should touch her. It is probably”—Sofya surveyed the room—“too warm for her still, but I can change that.” She searched in her robes and found a thin gold rod. With it, she gestured in a broad arc across the ceiling, and snow suddenly swirled from all sides, cloaking the floor in sparkling crystals. Viviana shivered. “Yes, it’s cold. But you will grow used to it and, as you see, Holly finds it delightful.”

  The baby was kicking her hands and feet in an ecstatic tattoo, her eyes dancing at the shower of rainbows that fluttered around her. Under her parents’ anxious eyes, Holly grew rosier as the temperature dropped, until finally, covered only in her light gown and a gauze of snowflakes, she fell asleep.

  Nicholas, Viviana, and Sofya talked far into the night, laying plans for the frozen world that was necessary for Holly’s survival. After Viviana fell asleep, exhausted by a day that had begun in rejoicing and ended in sorrow, Sofya and Nicholas talked on.

  “How could I have let it happen?” he groaned remorsefully. “If only I hadn’t let myself fear him, he would have been powerless.”

  Sofya’s keen eyes rested on his face. “The day that Holly was born, you changed. You are a father first and an immortal second. Tonight you feared as a father fears, for the safety of his child.”

  “But oh, the damage that has been done! The Land of the Immortals has never before known fear.”

  “And now it does, and yet it will survive,” Sofya said. “Perhaps that is the lesson that the elders wish us to learn.”

  “Us? You, too, Sofya?”

  “Yes, Nicholas, I will be learning alongside you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I cannot go home now … ” She paused, searching for a way to soften her words. “I cannot go home until this darkness lifts.”

  Then Nicholas understood. “Oh no. No. Not a curse. Not here,” he said, and dropped his face into his hands.

  The Square of the Sybils looked very different than it had twenty-four hours earlier. It was still thronged with immortals, the same immortals who had cheerfully crowded together to see the little princess emerge from the cathedral, but now their eyes were fixed in consternation on Nicholas, who stood in the center of their cluster. His golden crown was the only touch of warmth under a sky filled with harsh gray clouds. The crystal bu
ildings that lined the square seemed different, too, their luster gone, a dark outline of shadow etched around each wall and sloping roof, as though something were pressing against each surface. The immortals shivered, not only because of the frigid wind that scoured the square, but also under the burden of Nicholas’s words: “.… decreed that if any of our citizens should come under the curse of an immortal, our country must thenceforward be closed until the curse be lifted.” Nicholas cleared his throat. “What that means, friends, is that we cannot leave and, I’m sorry to say, our visitors cannot leave either.” Anxious whispers broke out. “And I won’t keep the worst of it from you, immortals,” Nicholas continued. “The very worst part is this: no new souls may enter our land until the curse is lifted.” He looked at the ground.

  “What?” “What about the souls that deserve immortality?” “Where will they go?” “Why?” several called.

  “I don’t know. It’s never happened before, and I don’t know where the new souls will go. And as for why, I can only say that it is the law of the elders, that’s all.”

  “But how can the curse be lifted?” shouted Zenwyler the centaur, ready for combat.

  “I don’t know,” Nicholas repeated helplessly. “We will learn that together.”

  Sofya stepped forward. “Holly, and Holly alone, can lift the curse that rests on her head. I have faith that she will.”

  Nicholas glanced gratefully at his old friend. “Yes, of course. She is a remarkable child—she has wisdom and strength. This is only temporary, I’m certain of it.”

  “What about Christmas?” called one of the goblins who had worked in Nicholas’s North Pole performance.

  “I believe that I will be allowed to make my usual journey around the world on Christmas Eve,” Nicholas explained. “The mortals must not be deprived of their happiness.”

  “But some of them are being deprived of their trusted helpers,” said a wizard who advised a young, rather flighty mortal king. The immortals nodded glumly, and several fairies folded their wings.

  “Just for a short time. I’m certain of it,” Nicholas said again.

  Silently the immortals stared back at him. In their eyes he saw devotion, sympathy, loyalty, pity, and something he had never seen before—reproach.

  Chapter Seven

  THERE WAS A SPECIAL feeling about the Christmas preparations that year. The immortals were determined to fight the gloom that had gathered over the kingdom with Herrikhan’s curse, and often they succeeded. The narrow, climbing streets of the village seethed with activity as the Yuletide was honored in manifold and marvelous ways. The air grew rich with the smell of puddings, candies, and other treats; the houses rang with songs and carols; and the gardens and walls were lined with garlands and wreaths. In every corner, the great task of manufacturing gifts for the world’s children surged forward. All day and deep into the night, immortals wielded and welded, hammered and harnessed, carved and curled. The fauns galloped around with little baskets of doll parts, which they delivered to the gylfyns, who had six hands apiece and could assemble them with dizzying speed. The Trojan heroes spent hours by their firesides, crafting perfect toy soldiers for small boy soldiers. The pixies were in charge of joke toys, as usual, and one of their Earth-dwelling cousins came up with a splendid new invention: shiny bubbles that floated right into your mouth and came out your nose.

  The fairies, who had been put in charge of packaging, produced the most exquisite presents that the Land of the Immortals had ever seen, each wrapped in luminous fairy paper with pink and silver bows.

  Gaia and her maidens coaxed the largest fir tree in the kingdom to come to the Square of the Sybils for a few weeks. The tree was quite vain, and when the goddess promised her the most elegant decorations in the universe, she couldn’t refuse. And Gaia was as good as her word: pulling stars from the heavens, she hung the tree with their winking lights and with prisms made from the obliging jewel glaciers. The fairies came to perch upon its branches too, and with their wings unfurled, they looked for all the world like a flock of small, gilded butterflies.

  In the afternoon of December 24, when Nicholas and his reindeer made their traditional procession through the village to collect the toys from the various workshops, he stopped to admire the tree. “It’s the most beautiful one we have ever had,” he said to Gaia, who inclined her head graciously. He looked around the square, which was lighted with torches against the early dusk and garlanded with holly in honor of the new princess. “Perhaps,” he said hopefully to the immortals who gathered round to wish him well, “this Christmas will be the most beautiful ever.” The assembled goblins, fairies, fauns, and sprites nodded in agreement, and the centaurs, who had rich baritone voices, joined together to sing him along his way.

  Nicholas leaned back against the bulging sacks that stuffed his sleigh and hoped that Christmas would bring comfort to his sorrowful kingdom. “Peace on Earth, goodwill to humankind,” he murmured, lightly touching the reins to urge the reindeer forward. Catching the spirit of their master, the reindeer dashed jubilantly along the snow, pulling the sleigh as if it weighed no more than a feather.

  “What’s the trouble, Donner?” called Nicholas as they slowed near the gates.

  “There’s a crowd gathered, sire,” the reindeer replied in a low voice. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt them if I jump.”

  There was a small, wistful group of immortals huddled near the shimmering gates. They bowed to Nicholas as his sleigh drew up alongside them, and one of the wizards came forward. “Please, Father Christmas, I—I have a favor to beg of you,” he began nervously, his old eyes fixed pleadingly on Nicholas. “Wouldn’t it—couldn’t it be possible—permissible to take me with you tonight? I could just sit here, in the back, you see? Next to the sack? I don’t weigh much, sire, and my little king, the one I’m guardian to, he’s in a terrible way—”

  “I don’t think it would be allowed, Cadmus,” Nicholas said sympathetically.

  The old wizard was near tears. “He’s going to get himself killed, sire! He’s listening to the wrong people, and his uncle is plotting against him, and … and he’s only a boy!”

  Nicholas looked at the old man’s face and then leaned out and grasped his wrinkled wrist. “Climb in, sir. We shall do our best.” Faces brightened in the little knot, for if Cadmus could go back to the mortal world, then so could they, eventually.

  The reindeer wheeled around and retraced their tracks to get a good running start. Eagerly they stretched forward and began their leap. Up, up—the sleigh was almost airborne. But then something happened. Or rather, didn’t happen. The reindeer crashed to the ground, their hooves scrambling against the ice. A horrible suspicion jumped unbidden into Nicholas’s mind—perhaps he had been mistaken; perhaps his Christmas journey was now forbidden. He tried to push the thought away “One more time,” he murmured to Donner.

  “It’s him.” Donner gestured to the wizard, who pretended not to hear.

  “We’ll try it one more time,” repeated Nicholas.

  So they did. The same crash and scramble occurred. Gloomily Nicholas and the reindeer backed up yet again, this time without a passenger. For the third time, he gave the command, and the reindeer leaped forward. Their hooves pounded on the hard-packed ice, and now—Yes! They were up, the sleigh rushing through the air behind them. It was going to be all right. Nicholas shouted jubilantly to the whole universe, “Merry Christmas!”

  Far below Cadmus screamed in a quavering voice, “Tell him to ignore General Vanderschott! Ignore Vanderschott!”

  “Yes, of course!” Nicholas cried, waving.

  Of all the citizens in the Land of the Immortals, Holly was the least troubled by the curse that had befallen Forever. She lay in her lacy cradle or in her mother’s arms, making gentle baby sounds of delight at the snow that whisked around her. After the first few nightmarish weeks, Viviana had woken from her trance of dread, determined that her child would flourish in her frozen surroundings.

  “I won’
t have her treated like an invalid,” she said to Nicholas. “She must have a childhood like any other.”

  Gently Nicholas reminded her that Holly was not like any other child.

  “Still. She has to have a wonderful childhood,” said Viviana firmly.

  “She will,” said Nicholas. They gazed down at the smiling Holly, cradled in Viviana’s arms. “Isn’t she the most beautiful thing?” asked Viviana.

  Nicholas touched a tiny pink finger. “The most beautiful thing,” he agreed. “You know what I think?” he said suddenly “I think the will-o’-the-wisps are here, and that’s what’s making her smile.”

  “Really? They’re here?”

  “I’m not certain, but that’s my guess.”

  “You could find out easily enough.”

  “I could. But the wisps like to be let alone. I’ll ask them at the next convocation.”

  “But that’s not for a hundred years!” protested Viviana.

  “I can wait,” Nicholas said calmly.

  Viviana smiled down at Holly. “Your father is a very patient man. Your mother, on the other hand, is—”

  “Still living with the mortal clock,” interrupted Nicholas, smiling.

  “I wonder which of us she’ll take after. You, I hope.”

  “She does seem even tempered. Never cries,” Nicholas said.

  “Not since that—that night.” Viviana’s voice trembled.

  “Hush, hush. It’s over now,” counseled Nicholas.

  “It’s not over,” cried Viviana. “Our child lives in a snowstorm!”