Yuletide Knights 3

by Johnny Miles

  Prisoners, said a small voice within. Griffin swallowed. Krampus spun around. Griffin hurriedly turned away from the crowd and looked Krampus straight in the eye.

  “Why so silent? Cat got your tongue, Kloss? Tell me, why did you really come here? What do you really want from me?”

  At that moment, the very ground shook, and a rumbling echoed throughout the chamber. People screamed, and creatures made the types of noises you might hear at a zoo or in the wild. Griffin thought he even heard bleating. Meanwhile, the very wind itself kicked up and howled. It whooshed through the vast hall, nearly extinguishing the torches and fires.

  Woden appeared and hurried toward Griffin. On the surface Woden seemed cool, calm, and collected but Griffin could tell he was more than just mildly surprised.

  “So many of them. All the Magicals that have disappeared. Here.”

  Griffin thought it best not to reply.

  As the dust began to settle, the ground shook once more. But it wasn’t just the ground, Griffin realized. It was the house as well. In that moment, though he didn’t understand how it was possible, Griffin knew the house wasn’t built on the mountain. It had been built from the mountain. Which explained the organic feel of the abode and the vibration that seemed to emanate from the very walls.

  The wind kicked up a second time, and the attendants of Krampus’s court bellowed and cried as the fires flickered and Kris appeared with Bucket.

  The energy in the crowd shifted from one of resigned dismay to one of hope, glimmer though it was. But from the shocked look on Kris’s face, Griffin could tell that, like Woden, he also knew or had known most if not all the Magicals in the room.

  “Well, now. This makes things more interesting.” Krampus stepped back with something like amusement on his face. Clearly, the game was afoot. “This is what I was expecting. Where’s the rest of them?” Krampus demanded suspiciously.

  “The rest of…?” Woden clasped his hands in silent meditation.

  “Don’t be coy with me. The rest of the Wild Hunt. I saw them. In a nightmare. I know they’re here. I felt them all, just as you entered the realm.”

  “I sent them away.”

  Krampus didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

  “Go ahead,” Woden encouraged. “Scan for them if you don’t believe me. You won’t find them.”

  Krampus closed his eyes as Kris and Bucket stepped up beside Griffin. Krampus then opened his eyes and circled the group. He gave the air a sniff and uttered a doubtful humpf.

  Sudden movement caught Griffin’s attention. A man with thick, shaggy black hair streaked with patches of silver stepped out from behind Krampus’s throne. The man wore skintight faded blue jeans, worn black boots, and a plaid lumberjack shirt.

  “You!” Griffin’s eyes widened. Then, when Griffin’s former district manager, Piedmont, and his ex, Thomas, came out in true demon form but still identifiable, Griffin staggered.

  “I knew you were acquainted with my minions, but I didn’t know you knew my son. Tell me, how did you two meet?” Krampus gazed at Griffin, who opened his mouth to speak. Woden stopped him.

  “Krampus. My dear friend—”

  “I’m not your friend,” Krampus growled. Woden paused and waited patiently, which only seemed to rankle Krampus further. “Why are you here?”

  “We need a favor.”

  “You?” Krampus snorted. “A favor from me?”

  “Actually,” Kris interrupted. “If…if you please, Krampus. I-I’m the one who needs your help.”

  Krampus turned his attention to Kris, surveying him with disdain. He observed Bucket a moment.

  “Even I know better than to travel to Earth Realm this close to Christmas without protection. What a…foolish thing to do, Santa Claus.” Krampus turned his back on them and walked to his creaky wooden throne. He sat with the air of a man who knew he had what they wanted and was willing to milk the moment, if only to stoke his own ego as well as play with their emotions.

  Outside, the wind now shrieked. There was a strange noise, barely audible beneath the roar of the fires. It sounded like hail pelting a window. Somehow, Griffin knew a sandstorm was brewing. His armpits grew hot and sweaty from nerves, as did his crotch, while the fires seemed to roar ever brighter, the room warmer.

  “Even if I had the power to help you, why should I?”

  “You will help him.” Woden raised his chin so as to let Krampus know he would not be intimidated. “Because I am asking. Because I need you to help Bucket. If you have any humanity left in your heart, and I know there is, if you have even a shred of human kindness, if you…remember what love is…”

  Griffin heard Woden’s words and felt like he’d been placed under a spell. And yet, he was fully aware of all that happened in the room: Woden, calm despite the anger building within; Black Pete at his father’s side but poised to strike; Bucket, shaky on his feet but with a determined glare; and Kris, who steadied himself and kept Bucket from falling with a hand on the Elf’s shoulder.

  Krampus, whose face seemed to bubble with hatred, sprang to his hooves. He stormed at Woden and screamed with rage. Griffin could see the force of his fury ripple through the air, blowing all in his path backward. Woden stood resolute.

  “Centuries, Woden. Centuries! You dare come here after so many centuries and make such a demand?”

  Griffin could feel the man-creature’s pain wafting toward him like something palpable. He felt his throat working as if he were about to cry from Krampus’s emotion but forced himself to remain still, to look beyond the spectacle. There was much Woden and Krampus refused to say.

  “No.” Krampus stood breathing heavily.

  “That is, of course, your prerogative.” Woden unclasped his hands and shrugged as though beaten. And yet, despite the glum look on his face, a strange blue light emanated from his pores and hands like so many tiny lightning bolts. Could anyone else see them? Griffin wondered. “I understand if you don’t wish to help. I suppose Kris will have to live with his soul mate the way he is.”

  “Woden…you promised,” Kris pleaded. Griffin could hear the disappointment in Kris’s voice.

  Woden held up a finger. “I said I knew someone who might be able to help. I didn’t guarantee results.” He turned his attention back to Krampus while Kris stared, crestfallen.

  “There is also the matter of my son.”

  “Your son?” Krampus arched an eyebrow. Griffin could tell he feigned ignorance.

  “Yes. My son. Jackson.”

  “Ah, yes.” Krampus sat back in his chair. “Your youngest. The half-human brat child. What about him?”

  “You’ve taken him, and I need you to give him back.”

  “I’ve not taken him.”

  “Someone here did. He wouldn’t have come here on his own. He couldn’t. Not without guidance or someone to open portals. I rather doubt he even knows this place exists. In fact…” Woden looked to either side of him, hands up, arms slightly extended toward those who surrounded them. “I rather doubt many present—all held against their wishes, I might add—ever even knew that this realm, this place, or that you ever existed.”

  Krampus laid a hand at the edge of the armrest and raked his nails into the wood, creating fresh gouges. For a moment, Krampus’s face was one of devout fury, but then he blinked and it was gone. In place was a coy smile.

  “And yet, here I am, old man. In the flesh.”

  Woden and Krampus stared each other down. Griffin noticed Woden had once again clasped his hands. Griffin looked more closely, reached out with his mind. He felt Woden’s energy and knew he had something up his sleeve.

  “Bring my son to me, and we’ll leave, never to return.”

  “I’ve told you. I don’t have him. Your son is not here.”

  “What do you take me for, Krampus? I know Jackson is here. I can smell him.” Woden sniffed at the air and smiled the smile of an old and seasoned politician.

  Krampus slammed a fist down on the armrest of his chair. Everyo
ne jumped, and there was a collective gasp as part of the chair splintered and broke.

  “Are you calling me a liar, Woden? You who told me we were leaving Earth Realm so that I might live? So your holier-than-thou Elves wouldn’t kill me?”

  “That was centuries ago. Surely you can forgive—”

  “Enough out of you!” Krampus stood and waved a hand.

  Woden grew strangely silent.

  “And you…Kringle.” Krampus approached Kris. “You came here at your own risk in hopes that I might take pity on you. That I might bring your Bucket back to his former glory. How very fucking superficial.” Krampus sneered. “Interestingly enough you’re the only one in the group who hasn’t yet committed any sin or atrocity toward humanity. At least, nothing terribly serious. Oh, but you’ve had horrible things done to you, haven’t you?”

  Griffin saw the tears well in Kris’s eyes as Krampus turned to Bucket. The Elf shrank back, as though he might disappear.

  “So much self-doubt and negativity.” Krampus clicked his tongue and shook his head. He laughed the laugh of someone who enjoyed watching others suffer. “So uncommon for an Elf. Now look. You’re old and decrepit. Maybe dying for all I know.”

  Bucket lunged at Krampus, but Kris held him back.

  “You know…your thoughts may have had something to do with”—Krampus wiggled a finger at Bucket—“that. Remember. We are what we think. The thoughts our souls feed on turn us into what we fear most. How do you think it is I look this good?” Krampus stood erect, head held high. He gestured at his own body.

  “You depraved psychopath. You twist everyone’s emotions into something as ugly and hideous as you are!” Bucket shouted.

  “Hideous,” Krampus hissed in contemplation. “I’ve been called worse. And by bigger men than you. Tell me, little one. Do you remember your father? The Yule Lads?”

  “Krampus, no! You promised!” a voice cried out from the crowd, sniveling.

  Krampus grinned and gestured to his right. He extended an arm, his hand, then pointed at a skinny, bearded old Elf who hid behind a troll’s stumpy tree-like legs.

  “Father? You’re alive!” Bucket cried and tried to run.

  “Bucket, please. We mustn’t be separated!” Kris tried to hold Bucket in place, but he broke free to race toward the emaciated little man. He wore filthy garments, and his beard touched the ground. They might have passed for brothers as they clasped hands, both with tears in their eyes. They were immediately surrounded and embraced by a group of Elves that Griffin assumed were the remaining Yule Lads. They huddled around father and son, arms about one another, and sobbed.

  “Such a beautiful, touching father-son reunion. Don’t you think?” Krampus turned to Griffin with a wild look in his eye.

  Griffin swallowed. He stiffened as he tried to steel his mind against the probing he knew was coming. Except the demon creature proved to be more powerful than Griffin had thought. Krampus plucked the memory from him as if it were nothing more than a feather that had landed on his shirt.

  He shook uncontrollably, sobbing as he was forced to face the truth about the night his mother died.

  How she’d screamed when the police brought her home. How she’d howled when Griffin tried to put her to bed. And in the wee hours of morning, when she’d finally grown silent after her medication had finally taken hold, Griffin had settled into a troubled sleep, only to be startled awake.

  She had stood in the doorway, little more than a shadow, a silhouette in silence.

  “Mom?” Griffin had asked. “You okay? Something wrong?”

  She hadn’t replied. She had shuffled into the room, that damn lollipop purse still in tow, naked except for her slipper.

  “Mom. You’re scaring me. What is it?” Griffin had asked, extremely uncomfortable with her nudity and what she might be doing there. He’d gotten out of bed as she approached.

  “Gavin…why have you forsaken me when I love you so?”

  Griffin had gulped, swallowing hard.

  And then she was on him. One arm about his neck as she tried to kiss him, her free hand groping at his crotch.

  “No! Mom. Stop. Stop! I’m not Gavin. I’m Griffin. Your son, Griffin!”

  But his words had meant nothing to her. She seemed to be so far gone the meaning of what he said never even came close to sinking into her brain.

  Griffin had tried to push her away as gently as he could. He’d reminded himself that this was not his mother. This was a woman who’d lost her mind to dementia. But she was surprisingly strong for such a frail woman. She kept coming at him, groping, molesting, demanding. He pushed her away. Hard.

  And in the gray light of dawn that slowly filled his room, Griffin had watched her fly through the air, only to land on the floor several feet away. She banged her head against the heavy dark-wood dresser and let out a little moan. He hadn’t needed a doctor to tell him his mother was already dead.

  Back in the present, Griffin hung his head and sobbed.

  “Oh! You haven’t told them yet, have you?” Krampus squealed with delight. Griffin raised his gaze to see a look of orgiastic pleasure on Krampus’s face. The man-creature licked his lips with relish.

  “You…miserable son of a… I hate you!” Griffin screamed.

  “I can live with that.” Krampus laughed before turning to address the humans and creatures along the sidelines. Many in the audience were silent, while others tittered gleefully behind cupped hands.

  “Look!” Krampus roared, voice loud and booming. “Look at these men. These pitiful humans. They’ve come here, willingly, to ask favors of me. To make…demands. I’m inclined to deny their requests.”

  Krampus circled them. Griffin watched him with growing ire.

  “I’m inclined to deny them,” Krampus continued. “Take their lives, instead. Suck out the life force…the very essence…that makes them who they are. What say you, members of my court?”

  “Off with their heads!” cried an ogre.

  “Too…Queen of Hearts.” Krampus tossed the suggestion aside with a flick of the wrist.

  “Eat out their hearts!” cried a goblin.

  Krampus cocked his head and arched an eyebrow.

  “Possibly.” Krampus stroked his chin. “But so…Edgar Allan Poe. Something long, I should think. Something that will allow them to dwell on their request and the audacity of their—”

  “Poke out their eyes!”

  “Slice them open and spill their entrails to the ground!”

  “Impale them on the mighty dungeon stalactites!”

  “I see someone’s been reading Vlad the Impaler’s history.” Krampus looked about. The room grew quiet, but a gluttonous and hateful excitement rolled off Krampus’s followers, even as fear made the others quake. Krampus all but bounced on his hooves. He turned to Woden, Kris, and Griffin. A slow, satisfied grin full of maleficence spread across his face.

  Black Pete stepped forward. “Father, if I may.”

  “Yes, son. Tell me. What would you have me do?”

  “Keep them in the dungeon until they’ve had time to think on their…transgressions.”

  “But, my dear boy,” Krampus replied in such a sweet voice Griffin would have bet his life they’d rehearsed their dialogue hundreds of times. “Whatever shall they eat? There is no food. No water. They will grow weak and pitiful and—”

  “And beg you to take their lives.”

  Krampus covered his mouth, his eyes wide in mock surprise.

  “Then I, out of the goodness of my heart, will grant them their wish!” Krampus howled with mirth. “Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open slay, eh?”

  “Thomas, Piedmont.” Krampus clapped his hands and called out his orders. “You two take Kringle. Minotaurs, I want Kloss in a cell, Bucket in the cage, and a unicorn spit-roasted for a feast. Pete. With me. Together we finally get to take down Wo—”

  Pandemonium struck.

  Griffin, shell-shocked from Krampus and his words, heard a powerful
whoosh, like thousands of birds all flapping their wings at once. There was a roar as wind blasted through and threatened to toss anyone standing aside. The fires went out. A second later, the realm shook with the violence of a nighttime earthquake.

  In darkness, Griffin’s heart raced. And yet, it wasn’t a full darkness, he realized. Odd lights ran crazily about, all different shades of red, like the ones he’d seen when Piedmont and Thomas came for him in jail, just before Kris had plucked him out of the cell.

  “Goddamnit!”

  Griffin heard Krampus stomp through the crowd. Strangled screams followed by sounds that made Griffin shudder as he realized it was the sound of bodies exploding, crushed beneath Krampus’s clomping blind fury.

  Griffin swallowed back his fear and struggled as one of the minotaurs approached, then picked him up and tossed him over its shoulder as if Griffin were nothing more than a child. Griffin grew cold with the knowledge that, with Woden gone—and separated from Kris and Bucket—all was lost as he descended the depths of the castle, still struggling against the minotaur.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Woden realized he couldn’t move, that was when he knew there was only one way of dealing with Krampus. Now Woden knew beyond the shadow of a doubt the rumors were true. This was where Earth’s Magic had disappeared to. And with all that power under his control, it made Krampus dangerous.

  Woden wished he hadn’t been so slow to connect the loss of Magic with the disappearance of Magicals. He should have reached out to the community sooner, but his own arrogance had kept him from doing so. Who would dare kidnap an Elemental? It wasn’t until a member of the Wild Hunt went missing—Fion, the incredibly handsome but feared demi-god hunter warrior—that Woden decided to investigate. Fion’s poet son, Oisin, who sang of his father’s exploits, had also gone missing. Worried, Woden had wondered how soon before his own children went missing?