by Brom
Jesse gasped, forced the words out. “Fuck you. I’m not one of your slaves.” Jesse grabbed Krampus’s wrist, tried to twist free. Krampus threw him to the floor.
“Hold him,” Krampus commanded and the Shawnee were on him, grabbing Jesse before he could get to his feet. Jesse flailed, landed a blow to the side of Makwa’s face, then they had him pinned.
Krampus stomped over, towering above Jesse, a low growl coming from deep in his throat. Isabel knew Jesse had gone too far, knew Krampus would bite Jesse, would turn him.
“My patience is at an end,” Krampus snapped. He squatted, grabbed Jesse’s arm, held it taut. “You leave me no choice.” He grinned, once again revealing his canines.
“No!” Isabel shouted. “Krampus, stop it!”
Krampus ignored her, opened his mouth to bite Jesse.
Isabel rushed in, pushed herself between them.
Krampus looked as though he might beat her to death with his bare fist.
“You made an oath!” Isabel cried. “A blood oath!”
Krampus shoved her away, sending her tumbling across the floor into one of the pews. Isabel rolled back to her feet and cried out, “Does the word of the Yule Lord mean nothing? Then how are you any different than Santa Claus?”
Krampus leapt to his feet, glaring at Isabel, and she could see he weighed her death, could see it burning in his eyes. He lifted his face upward, toward the rafters, let out a howl, gritted his teeth, and just stood there with his eyes shut, his chest heaving. Slowly, his breathing steadied. His shoulders slumped. “Isabel . . . my little lion. Your heart is bold and your words are true.” He set eyes on Jesse. “You . . . should you ever dare to challenge me again . . . I will kill you.” His words held absolute finality; he let out a long breath. “I will honor my oath. Those men will die, and die badly. But all in due time, for first there are more pressing matters.” He turned and staggered back to the stove, stared down at the velvet sack.
“Bind him,” Krampus said over his shoulder. “See to it he does not run off. I cannot risk him escaping. He is too unpredictable.”
Makwa yanked Jesse around, shoved him hard against the floor, and put a knee in his back. He gestured toward several curtain rods leaning in the corner. Wipi hopped up, slid out his knife and cut the cords loose from the rods. Isabel intercepted him on his way back. “Give me those.” She snatched the cords away from Wipi. Wipi looked at Makwa and shrugged. Isabel came over to Makwa. “Stop being such a brute. Now, get on off him.”
Makwa scowled, said something in Shawnee, which Isabel knew to be unflattering, but he got off.
“Put your wrists out.”
Jesse reluctantly did as he was told.
Isabel bound his wrists gently but securely. Jesse wouldn’t look at her, just glared at Krampus the whole time.
Krampus took a seat next to the sack. He picked up one of the arrows, studied it. “Where are you hiding?”
SANTA CLAUS STOOD on the ledge and stared down at the wolves. The early-morning wind whipped his long beard. His breath steamed in the chill. One of the wolves looked up at him, then to her mate lying still on his side. She let out a whimper and pawed at her mate, but the mate didn’t move. She barked up at the white-bearded man. Santa’s face twitched but he did nothing but stare.
The man searched the sky, found no sign of the ravens, hadn’t heard them since yesterday morning. He knew what that must mean. The trail was cold; without the ravens Krampus could be anywhere, could be a thousand miles away. He was wasting his time here.
He heard a horn, far away, from the east. He turned toward it, pulled out his own horn, and blew. The sound echoed across the valley, a sound most mortal ears would miss, a sound that could carry halfway across the world.
A few minutes later he caught sight of a sleigh flying toward him over the far ridgeline. It was smaller than his Christmas sleigh, drawn by two goats, Tanngrisni and Tanngnost. The goats were true Yule goats, the last of their breed, last of his ties to another age.
“The past should stay in the past,” he growled. So much had I managed to forget. Now, Krampus returns to resurrect old ghosts. Santa looked heavenward. Baldr is dead, by all the gods, and he needs to stay dead. Baldr paid for his misdeeds, his arrogance, his deceit, paid with his life, his soul . . . paid a hundred times over. How much is enough? When will I be allowed to forget?
The sleigh floated down and came to a skidding stop on the rough road. Two elves hopped out, both armed with sword and pistol, dressed in woodland gear: thick jackets, britches, cloaks, and boots. They scanned the hills with keen eyes as they strolled up to Santa Claus—the top of their heads only reaching as high as his belt. They peered down the ravine at the two wolves.
“Is Freki dead?” Tahl, the younger of the two elves, asked.
“No,” Santa replied. “But will be soon I am afraid.”
“Can we do anything?”
“Not for Freki. He is too large to carry in the sleigh.”
“ ’Tis a shame.”
“Yes,” Santa agreed, “and Geri will not leave his side. Not even in death. Their fates are one.”
They watched Geri pace round her mate. She licked his fur and again looked to the white-bearded man. She barked, then her bark turned into a whine.
“We can’t just leave them like this,” Tahl said. “There has to be something we can do.”
“It is sad, but they are of the past and like all the ancient ones, their time is done.” Santa turned, mounted the sleigh. The older elf followed, but the younger one stayed, watching the doomed creatures.
“Come, Tahl,” Santa Claus called. “Do not make this harder than it need be.”
The elf bit his lip, left the ledge and the wolves behind, ran and leapt into the sleigh. The older elf snapped the reins; the two goats bleated and leapt skyward, pulling the sleigh up over the trees. Tahl watched the wolves become smaller and smaller, until they were just two tiny specks alone in the forest.
As the sleigh disappeared over the ridge, the wolf set back her head and howled; the mournful, forlorn sound echoed through the snow-covered hills.
Chapter Eight
Ambush
The howl pressed into Krampus’s head, into his heart, so faint, not even a whisper, not even an echo’s echo, yet so painful to bear.
Dawn’s first glow peeked in through the window slats. The others slept undisturbed, but for Krampus it seemed there was no reprieve from the mournful call. Such sorrow, he thought. He clutched the sack, pulled it into his lap, and did his best to push the howls from his mind. Loki’s arrow, he thought, it must be found or I am defenseless. He set his mind to the task, trying to picture it in all its possible manifestations. Only he had no idea what the fabled arrow looked like, where it might be, and had to rely on the sack not only to seek but to find, and the sack was taking its toll. Where are you? Where are you?
Legend told that Odin had it taken into Muspell, the realm of lava and fire, to be melted down and destroyed forever, but Hel had spoken otherwise. Krampus pressed his eyes shut, thought of Asgard, melded with the sack. The charred ruins of Valhalla appeared in his mind, the surrounding lands all scorched earth, all a graveyard of crumbling ash. Krampus wondered how much longer before the ghostly realm was lost forever. The bones of a ship appeared among a dry seabed. “Hringhorni, Baldr’s funeral vessel,” Krampus whispered. “It must be here. Look for the—”
The howl—mournful and piercing.
The vision faded. Krampus opened his eyes, found himself staring about the church again, into the tortured face of the Christ hanging on the wall. He let out a long sigh, let the sack fall from his hands, the fatigue eating down to his very bones. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped to the window, peered out into the frosty morning and watched dawn’s light dance among the icicles, heard the call of morning birds. He longed to just sit there the day long and watch Sol make her path across the winter landscape. But there would be no time for such frivolity, not for him, not so long as Bal
dr still drew breath.
Again, the howl.
Geri. Krampus felt sure. The language of animals was as his own, and with the ancients he shared a bond. The howl told of more than pain, it spoke of abandonment. Krampus shook his head. He has left them behind. Odin’s great pets left to die alone. Krampus found his nails biting into his palm. Odin would curse him ill for such deed.
Another cry.
And blame is shared, for my hand is at play in these matters as well. That cannot be denied. Would I be as he then? Would I sit by and do nothing? Let them die? Allow those magnificent beasts to disappear from this world? He shook his head. Something must be done.
He turned, sure of course, then hesitated. This could be one of his tricks. A trap. A ruse to draw me out. Krampus took in a deep breath. Perhaps . . . perhaps not. Some risks must be made.
“Arise,” Krampus called.
The Belsnickels raised their heads, sat up, looked about as though unsure where they were and how they’d arrived here. There was no such confusion on Jesse’s face. He sat up quick, his hands still bound and his leg tied to the pew. Krampus could read his focus, his hatred; the man made no effort to hide it. Krampus thought how surprised Jesse would find it if he knew how much he, Krampus, understood that hatred. He liked this man’s spirit, wanted to tell him to hold fast, that he, the Yule Lord, would make good on his promise, but knew such words would be lost on the man while he resided in such a dark place.
“We go. Load up into the carriage. I have an errand.”
They looked at him confused.
“We must find the wolf.”
“THIS IS JUST plain stupid,” Jesse said, keeping a tight eye on the icy rut road as he patted his pockets in the hopes of finding a stray cigarette.
“Stupid or not,” Isabel replied, “his mind’s made up.” She still wore that confounded panda cap he’d bought her, hadn’t taken it off since first putting it on, and it made it hard to be mad at her.
Jesse slowed the truck down to a crawl as they forded a small creek. He shook his head. They’d been lucky on the highway, the only traffic was two out-of-state semis. But it was early, traffic would pick up soon, and there was no guarantee their luck would hold when they tried to head back. “He’s gonna get us all killed. This is stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“He can be a hard one to figure sometimes,” Isabel said. “Talking murder one minute then crying over some dead birds the next.”
“Well, one run-in with those wolves was enough for me.” Jesse glanced into the rearview at Krampus and the Belsnickels sitting beneath the torn-up camper shell, all of them watching the woods, searching the trees for any sign of the wolves, Santa Claus, who knew what else. The Belsnickels held everything, from spears and knives to a machine pistol, while Krampus clung to that sack like a child to its blanket, his eyes drinking in the scenery.
They came across the video-game boxes scattered all across the dirt road and Vernon tapped the glass. “Krampus wants you to turn around. He believes we’ve passed them.”
Jesse found a wide spot, turned around, and headed slowly back down the mountain. About a quarter-mile later, Krampus raised his hand. Jesse gently tapped the brakes, careful of the ice, and they rolled to a stop.
“He wants you to turn off the engine,” Vernon said in a hushed voice, as though the wolves might be hiding under the truck.
Jesse thought this was a bad move. He wanted to be able to stomp the accelerator and go, should either of the wolves appear, and you couldn’t always count on the old V-8 to start right up, even when it was warm. “I don’t know if I—”
“Shush,” Vernon said, putting a finger to his lips. “He’s listening for them.”
Jesse rolled his eyes and shut off the engine.
Krampus slid out of the truck, followed by the Belsnickels. The Shawnee wore their pistols and knives in their belts and held their spears at the ready, scanning the woods in all directions. Vernon walked up to Jesse’s window, fiddling with the converted Mac-10 he’d brought along, oblivious to the fact that he was pointing it at Jesse while he did. “Hey,” he whispered. “How do you cock this thing, again?”
Jesse pushed the barrel toward the ground. He had little faith in Vernon’s abilities to use the weapon without shooting himself, or his pals, and just hoped he wasn’t anywhere near the man if he did decide to use it. “When you get ready to use it, slide this bolt back.” Jesse had never shot a machine pistol before, but it was a simple enough gun. By the way Vernon handled it, he wondered if Vernon had ever shot any gun before. “Don’t pull the bolt back until you’re ready to shoot, or the gun could go off in your hand.”
Vernon pulled the bolt back.
“No, Vernon, not until you’re ready to shoot.”
“I am ready,” Vernon said, inadvertently pointing the gun right at Jesse as he did.
“Shit, Vernon,” Jesse snapped, shoving the barrel away from his face. “Look, man, you gotta watch where you’re pointing that thing. Okay?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”
Krampus and the Shawnee stood at the ledge, scanning the gorge below, when a low howl echoed up the valley. Jesse’s skin prickled. It sounded nearby.
Makwa sprinted up the road a piece, stopped, and pointed below.
“They found something,” Vernon said.
“Let’s go see,” Isabel said, and started to get out of the truck, stopped, and looked at Jesse.
“I’m good right here,” Jesse said.
Isabel shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Jesse let out a grunt, put on the emergency brake, and climbed out. “Look, ain’t someone gonna at least give me a weapon?” No one paid him any attention. “Fine,” he said and followed Isabel and Vernon to the ledge.
He could see the wolves, both of them, about fifty yards below. One of them lay on its side. It looked dead to Jesse. The other stood guard beside it. It stared up at them, growling, its fur bristling. Need to just leave that thing be.
Krampus and the wolf watched each other for several minutes, both of their tails twitching. Finally, Krampus spoke. “None of you are to use your weapons without my order. That is a command. Now, wait here.” He walked back to the truck, reached into the camper, and pulled out his sack.
“What’s he up to?” Vernon asked no one in particular.
Krampus closed his eyes, clutched the sack, then reopened his eyes. He inserted his arm into the sack and withdrew a chunk of something. Krampus tossed the sack back into the truck bed and headed their way.
“It’s the leg of beef,” Vernon said. “He’s planning on feeding the damn things. Isn’t he? He’s mad, completely mad.”
Jesse realized Krampus must’ve opened a door back to the church and simply pulled the meat out of the wash tub. “Maybe he’ll let you feed them, Vernon.”
But Krampus passed them by without a word and started down the rocky embankment. He slid and scrambled his way to the bottom of the ravine, then leapt deftly from boulder to boulder until he was about twenty yards from the wolves. The huge wolf bared its teeth and stood its ground. They could hear the low rumble of its growl all the way up the ravine.
“My friends,” Vernon said, making no effort to hide the pleasure in his voice. “Lord Krampus is about to be devoured before our very eyes.”
The Shawnee cut him a dark look.
“Do not even frown at me, you bunch of heathens. Not everyone is having a gosh-darn good time here. God or not, he has finally gone completely cuckoo.” Vernon smiled. “ ’Sooner he’s dead, the sooner I get to wake up from this nightmare.”
Krampus took a step, then another, slowly moving closer and closer to the wolf. The wolf showed no sign of backing down, its growl increasing in volume. Jesse found he shared Vernon’s sentiment; Krampus had indeed lost hold of his senses. Even the Shawnee looked unsure, clutching their weapons and exchanging nervous glances.
Krampus stepped upon the ledge with the giant wolves. He held the chunk of beef out before him and
spoke to the wolf. It was impossible to make out the words from that distance, yet somehow Jesse caught his low, soothing tone, as though the Yule Lord was reaching out in other ways.
The wolf took a step back, then another. Krampus laid the beef down in front of it. The wolf sniffed, appeared confused—growling then whining, growling then whining.
Krampus stepped over to the injured wolf, squatted on his haunches. He tore off a strip of beef, held it before the prone wolf. It raised its head, sniffed, licked the beef, then took it. Krampus fed it another strip and another, stroking its fur, all while its mate looked on. Finally, its mate took a timid step over, its tail down, sniffing. Krampus nudged the beef toward it. It licked, then bit into the meat—chewing greedily. Jesse wondered how long it had been since it had last eaten.
Krampus kept speaking to them in that low, soothing tone; whatever he was saying seemed to be working. Krampus was soon petting both animals and Jesse watched in disbelief as the standing wolf licked Krampus’s hand then actually nuzzled the Yule Lord.
“Looks like today’s not your lucky day after all, Vernon,” Jesse said.
“Yes, it appears madness wins,” Vernon said with a sigh.
Krampus stood and waved to them.
“Now what?” Vernon moaned.
“He wants us to come down,” Isabel said. “I got a good idea he’s gonna want us to tote that lame wolf back up to the truck.”
Vernon let out a long groan.
The Shawnee started down, but Isabel paused. “Vernon, need you to stay put and watch the truck. Krampus’s sack’s in the back, remember? Shout if you hear anyone coming.”