by Brom
“But it did stop, sometime around the early 1500s, I would guess, hard to say as by then I was losing any sense of the passing years. Just when I thought he had forgotten about me, he showed up in front of my cell. Only I did not recognize him, not at first. Gone was the guise of the lean, pious saint, what stood before me now was a robust figure, one dressed in some ridiculous costume. He was cloaked in a floor-length cape over a robe, all crimson velvet trimmed in white fur, a wide black belt strapped across his middle and a tall, pointed cap dotted with golden stars atop his head. His hair and beard had grown so full and long as to hide even his shoulders. He looked as some demented wizard.
“He introduced himself as Father Christmas, told me that he had mastered Loki’s sack and had no more need of the devil . . . that it was time for Krampus to be utterly forgotten. He had his servants bind me and set me in his sleigh. He flew me across the great ocean to the newly discovered continent of America, into the deepest, darkest mountains, and chained me in a cave far below the rocks, where none would ever find me, left me there to rot away.”
Krampus slowly shook his head. “But I did not rot away. No, for I sang my song to the forest and the forest listened.” He gestured to the Shawnee. “The great Shawnee people found me and saw to my needs. And I waited. Sat there for five hundred years waiting for one thing. The day I would be free, the day I would kill Baldr.”
Krampus spoke directly to Jesse. “And every one of those days I pondered the how of it. How I would escape, how I would kill a being that could not be killed. As time passed and the Europeans marched across the Americas, I had my Belsnickels bring me newspapers and books, and from these I kept up with his doings, watched as his fraud spread across the globe. I made charts, mapped and plotted his course until I came to understand his method, his path. And finally all lined up and when he came at last to Goodhope, I was ready. Yes . . . indeed.
“And now I am ready to end it, to end his reign of lies. Ready to take back what is mine!”
Krampus pointed the spear heavenward and howled. The Shawnee threw back their heads and added their voices, and then the wolves joined in. The ghoulish, unearthly sound echoed to the rafters of the old church, making the hair on the back of Jesse’s neck stand on end. Chet, the General, and Vernon looked on miserably.
Jesse couldn’t control a shudder. Are we really going to kill Santa Claus?
KRAMPUS STOOD OVER Loki’s sack, the Belsnickels forming a circle around him. Nine hearts beating my blood, nine is the magical number. I have never felt so alive.
He inspected his warriors. The Shawnee armed with knives, pistols, and spears, ever proud and dependable, their skin stained pitch, wearing horns and masks and furry hides, all in honor of him. Isabel, his brave little lion, carrying a shotgun and managing to look fierce even while wearing that ridiculous cap. Vernon held one of the new machine weapons and appeared glum as always, but not as miserable as the two criminals. Jesse stood there without shoes, his pants and shirt torn and covered in his own blood. Yet the song-maker appeared almost eager, though Krampus was sure it was not for the adventure ahead but for the man he called Dillard. There was something about Jesse’s spirit that Krampus liked, his gall, perhaps that glint of mischief in his eyes when he smiled. He hoped the young man would return alive, but there could be no guarantees. Krampus had never been to Baldr’s castle, had no idea what lay in wait. Would Baldr be expecting them? Most likely. There could be no telling what tricks and traps he might have in store. But would Baldr know about the spear? Krampus tightened his grip on the weapon. No. That will be quite the surprise.
Krampus set eyes on Jesse, Chet, and the General. “I command you to raise your hands.” All three obeyed. “My blood runs in your veins. I am your master. I command you to do your utmost to follow my will, to stay by my side, to protect me at all cost, even if it should cost your life to do so. Now swear it.”
They did, they had no choice.
“Good,” Krampus said and handed Chet and the General each a handgun. He handed Jesse a pistol and his rifle.
“It is time to go.”
“Where?” Vernon asked.
“Spain.”
“Spain?” Jesse said and glanced about at the others, but they looked equally perplexed. “Spain?”
“Yes, to Baldr’s castle. Where did you think he lived? The North Pole?” Krampus scoffed. “How easily people fall for his lies. Our jolly old elf has no temperament for the Arctic. He has lived on the coast where the warm sea blows, has lived there for centuries. But not after today, not after we burn it to the ground.”
“That’s a pretty long walk,” Jesse said.
Krampus smiled. “Always with the jests, you. We do not walk.” He nodded toward the sack. “I will open a door and we will travel through the sack.”
It took them a moment, some longer than others. But he saw most of them understood.
“It will be night there and darkness is our friend. I will send you through one by one, and then will follow, and together we will destroy all that is his. He may have guards: elves, beasts, things I cannot know. If they spot you, kill them. Show no mercy, for none will be shown for you. Failure means death for us all, as there can be no retreat, for the sack will have to remain behind.”
They all stared at the sack. Yes, there shall be no quarter from Baldr, not this time. Krampus took in a deep breath. I am ready. One way or another I am ready for this to be done. Krampus picked up the sack, pulled out a bottle of mead, broke off the wax, and drank deep. He wiped his arm across his lips and offered the bottle. The Belsnickels passed it around.
He held the sack open, stared down into its shadowy depths. Time to open the door. Only he didn’t know to where. He’d never been to the castle. He needed an object, something to fix on, to direct the sack to, something that wouldn’t put them in the line of danger, wouldn’t give them away.
“There a plan on getting back?” Jesse asked.
“We will fly back in the sleigh,” Krampus replied and realized almost at once that the sleigh was his answer. Yes. I will have the sack find the sleigh. The old one, the one he brought me to the Americas in. It would most likely be in the stables, which would be a good place to begin. He wondered if the sleigh even still existed. There is but one way to find out.
He closed his eyes, connected with the sack, could feel its pulse. It was so easy now that he had his strength, almost effortless. He thought of the ancient sleigh, pictured it in his mind, and the sack responded. He saw the sky and ocean streak by, a fortification, just a glimpse, but enough to see this was not a place of candy canes and snowmen, but instead imposing walls of stately white stone. There it is . . . the sleigh! Krampus opened his eyes. “The door is open.”
Krampus left the circle, walked over to where the two wolves lay side by side. He squatted, stroked their thick pelts. “Geri, Freki, we must go now. Guard the sack. Let none take it. If you smell him coming, then we have failed.” Geri let out a low whine. “It is my wish that you should then tear the sack to shreds. Understand?” Freki barked.
Krampus stood, stared at the sack. All was in play. He picked up the spear, ran his finger along the edge of the blade, testing its sharpness for the hundredth time, took in a deep breath. It is time to take back that which is mine.
SANTA CLAUS REMOVED a small, leather-bound book from the shelf in his study, carefully sat it upon his desk, and touched the mark inlaid upon its cover. He caressed the frayed edges and cracked binding, opened the book, carefully turning the brittle parchment until he reached a crude ink drawing of a thin, stern-faced, bearded man holding a shepherd’s hook. Santa Claus ran his finger across the rough parchment, lightly tracing the inscription below. “Charity unto others brings its own reward,” he whispered.
He looked out from his window, out across the Mediterranean Sea. The last vestiges of sunlight glittering across the waves. He closed his eyes, inhaled the warm, salty air, and made himself remember, remember the flame as his prison burned, remem
ber the screams as Ragnarok consumed all in Hel, all in Asgard, remember his wife’s very soul burning before his eyes.
“The flame licked my flesh,” he whispered, talking to the book. “But there came no end, no relief from my torment. I watched until all was consumed, until I stood alone, the only soul amongst a world turned to ash and blackened bone.
“God, the One God above all, sent down her angels, the Valkyries, and they carried me away to Midgard, left me naked to roam the earth. For years I wandered aimlessly. I forewent food and drink, bore the elements, all in the hope I would perish. Even threw myself from great cliffs, all in vain, for my flesh would not die.
“Krampus found me, forced me into servitude—me, the son of Odin, a slave to a low-cast demon. I did not care, did not feel. Hollow of heart and soul, I came to believe this to be my fate, my penance, that I had been spared to bear torment not just for my own vanity and arrogance, but for that of all my forebears.
“I was lost, dead in all but flesh.” He gently closed the book and clutched it to his chest. “Your words, Saint Nicholas, your words found my soul, reminding me of the days before Ragnarok, before Hel, before all the scheming, treachery, and petty games of the gods. Of a time when I roamed the land, charitable and gracious, seeking the simple joy of raising the spirits of the downtrodden. The only time I ever truly knew happiness.”
“I thought I would find you here.”
Santa turned.
A thin woman with flowing white hair and ageless eyes entered the room. She wore a dress of dark crimson trimmed in gold. She took the book from him, sat it back upon the shelf. “You need not the teachings of a dead saint to show you what is in your heart.”
“Sometimes I forget,” Santa replied. “The play of gods makes one yearn for a simpler time.”
She touched his hand. “Your charity is not to please the gods. It is your nature.”
“True. I know no joy greater than spreading hope and cheer. But do I also enjoy hearing my name in song, seeing my image celebrated in every corner of this earth? Yes. I must admit I crave such, that my heart will not be content until everyone sings my songs.”
“Charity is your vanity. So what of it? No one has put it upon you to be a saint. Charity is its own nobility, regardless of purpose.”
“The only truth I know for certain is that when I fly around the world giving gifts, helping those in need, it is only then that I forget the pain of my past. Beyond that, beyond the gods and where I might fit in their great designs, it matters not.”
“He is coming.”
“Krampus?”
She nodded. “The signs are in the bones.”
“I knew he would.”
“I believe it will be soon.”
“I am ready.” Santa Claus hefted his broadsword from the corner, sat it on the desk. “Did the bones give away any other secrets?”
“No. Do you fear him?”
“He can do me no injury. The gods have seen to that.”
“Why then do I read worry upon your brow?”
“It is the sack I fret over. He could bring it harm. I do not know where I could ever find another of its like.”
“Then you must see he does not escape.”
“He will not. Not this time. This last of Loki’s treachery will die with him.”
Chapter Eleven
Dark Arts
Krampus held the sack wide-open; Jesse watched the darkness shift and swirl. The Yule Lord nodded and Makwa set one foot in, then the other, slid down to his waist. Krampus tugged the sack up over his head and just like that, the big man was gone. The brothers, Wipi and Nipi, followed without hesitation, needing no command. Isabel went next, and Vernon, who gave Krampus a look of utter contempt but went in without a word.
Krampus looked at Chet and the General. The General took a step back, his fear plain on his face. He shook his head. “No, sir, I ain’t going in there.”
“You’re all hot air, ain’t you?” Jesse said with a sneer. “Always figured you weren’t much of nothing without your kin backing you up.”
The General seemed not even to hear him, just stared at the sack.
Jesse shoved the General aside and stepped up, ready to get this show done and over with. The mead warmed his blood, making him feel a bit crazy, a bit mad, and he liked the feeling. He stuck a foot in, sucked in a deep breath—he was still having a bit of trouble breathing, but the pain was fading. He slipped in the other foot.
Krampus sat a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Time to put things to right.”
“Just don’t get us killed,” Jesse said and slid down into the sack. There came a moment when he felt nothing below his feet, a sensation not of falling but more like sliding down a velvet chute. A second later he found himself on his butt in soft dirt and scattered hay. He blinked and the world came into focus. It was night, the air warm. Jesse had never been to the ocean, but knew that must be what he now smelled. He heard the distant sound of waves crashing on rocks and stood up.
“Get down,” Isabel whispered, grabbed his arm, and tugged him into a stall. The Belsnickels were crouched against the inside wall, sharing the stall with an old green sleigh. They peered out into a courtyard surrounded by white stone walls, at least twenty feet high. They saw not a soul, but there were gas lanterns flickering about every fifty feet along the wall. The stall butted up against a larger structure. Jesse smelled hay and manure and guessed it to be a stable. Across the courtyard stood a stately house of arches and turrets, built of the same white stone as the walls and stable but topped with a red-tiled roof.
A cowboy boot connected to a leg suddenly appeared out of thin air right in front of Jesse. A moment later the General sat on his backside in the dirt. The General glanced around wild-eyed, pointing his handgun in this direction and that. Jesse, fearing the man would begin shooting randomly at any second, leapt forward, pulled him into the stall. Shortly after, Chet and Krampus arrived. Krampus stood tall, right out in the open, hands on hips, surveying the courtyard. He spotted the old sleigh, walked into the stall, and ran a hand along its weathered sideboard.
“This is mine,” he said in a low tone. “He stole it. One of many things he stole. One of many things I have come to reclaim. Come.” He left the stall and walked along a cobblestone path; the Belsnickels followed. He stopped in front of the stable, looked it up and down. “This will do.” He slid one side of the tall carriage doors open a crack and peered in. “Yes, perfect. Chet, I want you and your little troll friend to stand guard out here. Give us warning if any should come. It is my command.”
Chet nodded, but the General seemed lost, his eyes shifting this way and that. Jesse felt sure the man was going to blow the whole operation, couldn’t understand why Krampus would leave these two out here alone.
Krampus entered the stable; Jesse, the Shawnee, Isabel, and Vernon all followed. Two gas lanterns flitted from their perch inside, casting long shadows down the stalls. A second-story loft, stacked with hay, ran the length of the structure. The middle lay opened all the way up to the ceiling. The stalls began about midway in, leaving a large, open space for loading, unloading, hitching, and other tasks. Krampus strolled into the middle of this space and, standing there, spear in hand, he struck Jesse as some devilish gladiator awaiting challenge.
“Find cover,” Krampus said, pointing with his spear to a set of stalls. “All on one side, so as to avoid shooting one another.” Jesse got the feeling Krampus had things more planned out than he let on. He hoped so, anyway. Jesse started to follow the other Belsnickels when he caught movement in the loft above. He squinted into the shadows, found his newly acquired ability to pierce the darkness amazing, but still saw nothing or no one. He glanced at Krampus. Krampus nodded. “There are eyes on us. Have been since we first arrived.” Jesse swallowed. Things were getting very real, very fast.
Jesse slid behind a large wall post and waited, having no idea for what or for how long. Isabel and Vernon found cover behind a stack of crates, and the Sha
wnee crouched in an empty stall next to Jesse. Somewhere a goat bleated. Jesse glanced behind him. Several reindeer looked back at him from their stalls, snorting and stomping in agitation. Jesse leaned his rifle against the post in easy reach, pulled the revolver from his belt, started to check the chamber, when a blast of gunfire came from outside, followed by a scream. Jesse jumped, almost dropping his pistol. He managed to get a hold of the grip and pointed it toward the door just as another round of shots rang out. A second later something hit the doors with a loud thud. Chet rushed in, fell, and tumbled across the ground, losing hold of his weapon. “Fuck,” he screamed, snatching his gun back up as he scrambled to his feet. Krampus grabbed him, held him.
“He’s out there!” Chet cried, looking backward over his shoulder, trying to twist away from Krampus. “Shot him. We both did. Shot him right in the chest . . . in the head. Didn’t do a thing! Not a fucking thing! Didn’t even slow him down!”
“Go, stand with the others,” Krampus said and let him loose. Jesse was struck by how calm Krampus sounded. Chet dashed for the stables, slid in behind the giant post next to Jesse. “We’re fucked, man,” Chet said, his chest heaving, his breath coming hard and fast. “That thing, there’s no stopping it. It’s a monster. A real live monster!”
Jesse found his own breath speeding up, found himself badly in need of another shot of mead. He heard the patter of little feet above them, caught sight of a few boyish figures dashing about in the rafters.