The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  The streets were growing more and more crowded. Church bells were ringing out and carolers clustered at a few corners, singing the ancient songs. Holly saw cheerful children wiggling with excitement, vigorous old men marching out of the baker’s with loaves under both arms, a sturdy cook with a goose in her basket, and a young mother with a baby in a perambulator. Their happiness seemed to exist in a world Holly no longer lived in.

  “Hey! It’s the doll girl!” Two dark-eyed girls balanced precariously on the edge of the curb, waving. “Where’re you going, doll girl?”

  She remembered them. She remembered their hands closing around their dream dolls the day before. They had looked at her with shining eyes, and she had known that their dreams—their futures—were her life’s purpose. When they became immortals, they must be able to enter the land of Forever. She summoned up all her strength and replied, “I’m going to work. Merry Christmas!” Then she began to run again.

  Her breath was ragged when she reached the shop. She could see Mr. Kleiner through the window, stepping back to admire a display of sailboats. Jeremy, at his side, was nodding approval. A few customers wandered through the aisles. She bowed her head and whispered, “Please, please, don’t let them come to misery through me.” And then she walked through the door.

  “Miss Claus! In heaven’s name!” Mr. Kleiner was exclaiming. “What has happened?”

  Jeremy glanced behind her. “Holly? Where’s Tundra at?” he asked quickly.

  Holly looked from one to the other and shook her head. “Tundra’s dead. Please don’t make me explain. I have to see Christopher—Mr. Carroll—right away. Just let me go.”

  They stepped back to let her pass. As swiftly as her pounding heart would allow, she climbed the stairs and pushed through the velvet curtains. The sight of the clock on the door shook her; it had only been a few hours ago that she had passed through that portal in joy. Now her most precious friend was in peril. She felt utterly responsible for it all.

  Gently touching the number three, she slipped inside Christopher’s studio. Toys were buzzing and whizzing, and a brilliantly lighted galaxy spun from the ceiling, but their creator was not in sight. Someone began to whistle in the next room. She stared emptily at the window for a minute or two. Then she straightened. “Christopher?” she called softly.

  The whistling stopped. His head peered around the edge of a door. “Holly!” he exclaimed, a smile flashing across his face. “I was thinking it might have been a dream!” He strode toward her and lifted her hands to his lips. “I’m so glad you came back,” he said. “I can’t get along without you now.”

  A wave of desolation broke over her. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew,” she said, trembling.

  “Why, Holly, what’s the matter? You’re so pale, my love. Sit down here—I’ll open the window.” He flung open the casement and then returned to her side. “Now, sit down and tell me what’s happened. Was there some sort of trouble at home?” he asked kindly, seating himself next to her.

  Holly said bleakly, “Yes. There was. And part of it’s about you. I don’t know how to begin—” She faltered.

  “Just begin at the beginning,” he said.

  Holly buried her face in her hands. “All right,” she said slowly “The beginning is you. When you were ten years old, you wrote to Santa Claus and asked him what he wished for Christmas. What he wished for was me. I am Santa’s daughter.” She looked up.

  Christopher’s face was fixed in a polite half smile, as if in response to a bad joke.

  “I am Santa Claus’s daughter,” she repeated, “and I am the only child ever to be born in the Land of the Immortals. When a mortal soul sheds its body, it comes to my country if it has belonged to a human whose deeds and thoughts live beyond the span of mortal life. It’s a magical place too, and all the enchanted creatures who have done good on Earth live there as well. I am the only one who did nothing to earn a place there. What I did, instead, was to bring a curse on my land and people.”

  “A curse,” Christopher repeated in a blank voice.

  “Yes. Because of my birth, seventeen years ago, a curse came to Forever—that’s the other name of my country. There’s a—a—warlock named Herrikhan, who was once very powerful. But he was proud and greedy and abused his power, and for his crimes he was imprisoned for many centuries. For a long time, he didn’t know that he could earn his way to freedom by possessing a heart of pure compassion, and then, once he found out, he spent many centuries looking for the owner of this heart. But—” She broke off, not sure how to continue. “But,” she repeated, taking a deep breath, “I was the one. He needs my heart to become free. One night when I was a baby, he set it in ice to keep it safe—that’s why I must always have cold around me—and he cursed the Land of the Immortals. Ever since that night, no new souls have joined the immortal world and none of us have ventured out, except for my father, on Christmas Eve. And now, me.” She looked searchingly at Christopher’s face.

  “You. Indeed,” he said stiffly.

  She watched him for a sign of understanding, but she saw nothing in his eyes. Desperately she continued. “He’s here. Or, rather, he’s not here right now, but he’ll be back. My heart must be given willingly—that’s the rule—but there is nothing he will not do to force my hand. He killed Tundra. And he knows about you.”

  “About me?” said Christopher coldly. “What has this—this—story to do with me?”

  Holly pressed her hands against her throbbing head. “He knows that I love you,” she whispered.

  Christopher’s laugh was embarrassed. He stood abruptly and walked to the window. “Miss Claus,” he said, not looking at her, “you honor me with your affection, but I’m sorry to say that I find all of this a trifle, well, implausible.”

  Holly’s face grew white. “You don’t believe me?”

  “You must admit, it’s somewhat outside the bounds of reason.”

  Her eyes rested on his unmoving back. “I never thought that you—” she began, and stopped. “I believed you,” she said.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath. He turned, his face defensive. “But Santa Claus! Warlocks! Curses! The Land of the Immortals! It’s preposterous. There is no Santa Claus!”

  “There is. He’s my father. You believed in him once, and your belief brought my soul into this universe.”

  Christopher shook his head. “No. It’s impossible.”

  Holly’s green eyes slowly filled with tears. She had never felt so alone. Defeated, she sat upon the old sofa with her hands clasped together and tears streaming down her cheeks. Christopher looked away, his face rigid. Her teardrops fell on her hands and quivered there, turning into ice. Soon Holly’s forlorn figure was seated in a swirl of dancing snowflakes.

  Christopher watched the graceful crystals flutter about Holly’s tumbled hair, and his heart twisted within him. Perhaps—? a tiny voice within him dared, but the whisper was crushed by the iron hand of logic: impossible. But the snow, the tiny voice persisted. Explain that.

  It’s all impossible. The snow is an optical illusion, and the girl is mad.

  She’s not. She’s the sanest person you’ve ever met.

  Santa Claus? Children’s nonsense. “Nonsense!” he repeated aloud.

  Holly looked up. “There’s something I want to show you,” she said. She reached into her bulging satchel, pulled forth the crystal music box, brought it to him. The thousand rainbows caught within it burst into color in the morning light and threw bright, gemlike sparkles on the sober ceiling and walls of Christopher’s studio.

  “Very pretty box,” said Christopher, looking at her questioningly.

  Holly didn’t answer. She was listening to the first whispers of music that sang in her ears: the tune was like none she had ever heard before, wandering, beguiling, bending, and swaying. It was like flying. It was like a secret. She lifted her eyes, wide with listening, to Christopher. “Do you hear it?” she asked.

  He pitied her. “I don’t hear any
thing,” he said gently. “It’s a very pretty box.” Quite mad, he thought, wondering why it hurt him so.

  Holly’s face became still again. The music faded. She looked miserably at Christopher. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I troubled you, Mr. Carroll. What time is it?” she asked quickly.

  “I don’t know. Eleven,” he said, unable to take his eyes from her face.

  “He’ll be back soon,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I must go. Is it warm?”

  “Warm? I don’t know.” He roused himself. “Yes. It does seem as though it’s become rather warm. Perhaps our cold spell is over.” He tried to speak normally.

  “Our cold spell is over,” she repeated. “Then I haven’t much time. Mr. Carroll, I have one last favor to ask you—don’t say no—” She placed her fingers gently on his mouth to stop his words. “Take this locket. It will protect you from harm. I know you don’t believe in what I’ve said, but please.” She lifted her fingers to the slim gold chain around her neck and the metal dissolved as if it were water. “Please. Will you put it in your pocket near your heart?”

  He nodded once and held out his hand. She placed the locket in his palm and then closed his hand around it.

  They looked at each other without saying a word. “Put it in your pocket,” she said finally, and he tucked it into his waistcoat. She nodded. “Don’t give it to him. No matter what he says or does, keep the locket. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good-bye,” she said simply, and turned away.

  “Holly!” he burst out. She shook her head without looking back and slipped through the door. “Don’t go,” he said quietly.

  With her satchel in her hand, Holly trailed down the dark staircase for the last time. Before she could stop herself, she looked to the corner where Tundra had always sat, and its emptiness was like broken glass in her throat. She stopped, dizzy with sorrow. Jeremy and Mr. Kleiner stopped their dealings with customers to hurry to her side.

  “Holly,” said Jeremy anxiously, “you look terrible.”

  “Not terrible,” assured the kind Mr. Kleiner, “but distraught and tired. Do sit down, Miss Claus.” Hastily he brought a stool forward and gestured to it invitingly.

  “Dear Mr. Kleiner,” said Holly gratefully, “I shall never forget your good heart. It’s time for me to go now, my friend. I wish—oh, how I wish—that I could stay, but I can’t.”

  “Miss Claus? Are you all right?” asked Mr. Kleiner. “You don’t look well enough to travel.”

  Despite her pain, Holly almost laughed at that. “Bless you, Mr. Kleiner, and”—she hesitated—“watch over Mr. Carroll, will you?”

  He nodded seriously, and she knew that he took her request to heart. “Miss Claus, thank you for what you’ve done for the shop. And for all of us. And for me.” He reached out to shake her hand, then thought better of it and kissed her forehead instead. “Thank you.”

  Holly turned to Jeremy. He backed away, his mouth straightening into a stubborn line. “Don’t you say it, Holly. Don’t say good-bye to me. I’m coming with you.”

  “Oh, Jeremy, my dear, don’t come. It might be dangerous.”

  “Nuh-huh.” He shook his head firmly. “I don’t care. You ain’t got Tundra, and I’m coming with you. To see you off.”

  Her eyes shone. “You are a loyal friend, Jeremy. Thank you. Is it all right, Mr. Kleiner?”

  “Yes, of course. Go, my boy,” said Mr. Kleiner, wisely stifling his curiosity as to what could possibly be so dangerous about a train station.

  Wearily Holly picked up her satchel and turned to go. Without a word, Jeremy pulled the bag from her hand and placed himself at her side. As they walked through the door, a blast of warm, moist air greeted them, and Holly staggered. “Just hang on to me, Holly, and we’ll get there,” urged Jeremy.

  She put her hand on his shoulder and took a deep gulp of tepid air. “This is Herrikhan’s doing,” she murmured. She could not be sure. But indeed Herrikhan’s force of evil had caused this supernatural heat storm. So even Holly’s magical snowflakes were unable to protect her.

  Jeremy, who had not the slightest idea what she was talking about, nodded sympathetically. “Tell me who’s Herrikhan,” he said, hoping to distract her.

  “He’s a being who will try to stop me from going home,” Holly said. “I think he’ll be at the park when we get there.” She tried to hurry, but the close air seemed to grow thicker by the minute. “Does it look like all the snow has melted?” Her eyes didn’t seem to be working properly.

  Jeremy looked at the ground. “Yup. Turning to slush. And look over there.” He pointed. “It’s sort of steaming.”

  It was true. The summer heat that beat down on New York on that winter’s day not only melted the snow, but sizzled it into steam. All up and down the street, shopkeepers and bypassers were looking up into the sky with puzzled, worried faces. “All of a sudden, it just turned hot,” they were saying. “I never seen anything like it.” “On Christmas Eve, too.” “Feels like devil’s work.” “Must be eighty degrees.” “Maybe more.” “Sure doesn’t seem like Christmas.”

  Children turned their eyes away from the sweltering sky, disappointed. Children who had whooped into the street with their sleds at eight o’clock that morning now stood in disconsolate clusters, watching their snow dribble into puddles.

  “Hey, there’s the doll lady!” shouted a little girl outside the bakery.

  Summoning up her strength, Holly smiled toward the call, for her vision was blurred and things gleamed strangely. On Jeremy’s shoulder, her hand grew heavy.

  “Why, it’s the girl with the dream dolls! Miss! Thank you!” called a voice from a carriage. Holly nodded her head blindly as Jeremy guided her against the scudding waves of heat that billowed from the very bricks around her. She grew paler and paler, and the cheerful greetings that met the little procession were more and more replaced by looks of concern.

  Far away, Nicholas thrust the telescope aside and began to pace around Holly’s room like a caged animal. Viviana and Sofya watched him in silence. He stopped and chewed his knuckle. Then he paced. “I’m leaving now,” he said, finally. “Christmas Eve will come early this year.”

  “Nicholas, you can’t stop this from happening,” Sofya reminded him.

  Nicholas stopped chewing his knuckle for a moment. “I know,” he said. “I know that. I just can’t stand to watch anymore.”

  “Well. Yes. Go in peace, then.”

  The distraught king hurried from the room.

  Across the city of New York, strange things were happening. The crisp blue sky of winter had now faded to the color of a bruise. Thick yellow clouds hovered over the towers of the metropolis, and the air was filled with a greasy softness. The streets with their sweating brown bricks now seemed like tunnels, and the pungent, spicy smells of Christmas were foiled by a putrid stench that rose from the darkest corners of the city.

  There was a faint buzzing, too, as if angry, stinging insects were penned somewhere underneath the granite streets, waiting for release. This thin sound invaded the minds of the citizens and stretched their nerves. People jumped guiltily when they were spoken to and twisted their heads around to get a better look at a dark shape they had seen from the corners of their eyes. Big-bellied, complacent businessmen rushed down Wall Street as if pursued. Little children sat quietly in corners, hiding their eyes. Horses shied and whinnied. Kindly old dogs growled at their masters. Aged spinsters began to rip their petticoats into bandages as though a war had begun. Out in the harbor, the captain of a little tugboat looked at a green shape floating just beneath the surface of the water and gave swift orders to return to dock.

  But suddenly, another sound was heard. The children heard it first. In crowded, airless tenement rooms and prosperous stone mansions, children uncovered their eyes and listened in wonder.

  The dream-dolls were speaking: “Go,” they said, “go now. Holly needs you. Remember, love conquers time. You must go now.”<
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  The children took up their dolls—in grubby hands and tidy ones—and began to walk toward Central Park.

  Grown-ups are hard of hearing, or perhaps just hard of believing. Some pretended they didn’t notice the dolls speaking. Some even tried to hold the children back with scoldings. But the weird, lowering clouds had unsettled them, and the buzz seeping up from the pavement had frightened them. The light, chiming voices of the dolls and children were soothing, and, despite themselves, the adults began to listen. They began to believe. Without really noticing what they were doing, the grown-ups drifted out onto the stone sidewalks and began to walk toward Central Park.

  Far ahead, Jeremy and Holly rounded the corner into the plaza and entered the park. They were walking very slowly now, for Holly had grown so weak that it was only her will that was keeping her upright at all. All the color had drained away from her face, and she looked somehow transparent. Jeremy, sick with fear, could not speak, but Holly was talking about Tundra, to keep herself from falling. “One time, when I was a very little girl, I hid from him in the garden. It was freezing that day, and we were the only ones out, he and I”—she gasped for air and then continued—“and it was beautiful. Do you know, Jeremy dear, that you cannot hide from a wolf? Not really, anyway.” Holly stumbled, but Jeremy caught her. “Thank you. Because, you see, they have the most acute sense of smell, the most—” She paused, dazedly. “Where was I?”

  “You was hiding.”

  “Yes, I was. And Tundra, he loved me so, he pretended that he could not find me. I watched him hunt for me behind the bushes and trees. He was pretending, but you see, I didn’t understand that, and suddenly I was so frightened I began to cry. Because”—she took a great, hollow gulp of air—“I had realized for the first time that we were two instead of one. I had never known that we could be separated.” She staggered and then straightened. “And when he heard me crying, he jumped to my side. Like flying, he was so fast. He was so fast.” She stopped. “And now we’re two again. I can’t go any farther.”