by Max Dune
He puts down the binoculars for a moment, wondering about his own motives. Are you trying to save the elves? he thinks. Or just trying to get revenge? No matter the consequences? Then Frost hears murmuring, in an entirely different tongue than his own. He whips his head about and takes cover next to a large tree trunk. Turning his binoculars to the air above him, he spots them. A group of skrillers. They’re spying on Santa’s Village from high up in the branches of nearby trees.
Jack ducks and does his best to hide. Had they spotted him? He nervously counts to ten, trying to calm himself in anticipation of an ambush, but nothing happens. Jack maneuvers his head around the tree trunk and eyes the would-be attackers. Their huge, black eyes stay fixed on Santa’s Village. He considers retreating, but then decides against it. The best thing to do would be to capture one of them. Force it to talk. Divulge who sent them. From a strategic standpoint, it makes sense. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? Frost tells himself. If someone is sending skrillers after Santa, he needs to know who it is.
Jack flies carefully from tree to tree. He soon nears the tree in which the skrillers are perched. He counts again, but this time, it’s the countdown to his attack. All at once, Jack leaps up toward the skrillers, who immediately begin to scamper away, leaping from branch to branch. Jack grapples behind them. The skrillers are fast and nimble. He can’t catch them. So he decides to get a little crafty in his pursuit. The skrillers may have their speed, but Jack has other tricks up his sleeve.
Jack studies the bounces of the skrillers as they leap from tree to tree. With all the prowess of gymnasts, they make soft landings, then quickly reposition themselves and leap again. Jack finds his target. The one who takes the longest to reposition himself.
The weakest link.
Jack watches the skriller reposition his feet, then erects a sheet of ice in midair, right where the skriller is about to leap. In a flash, the skriller leaps forward and slams headfirst into the ice wall. It falls to the ground. His companions don’t stop. Jack watches them fade into the distance as he sails down to the writhing skriller. The skriller stands, wobbling and dazed. Jack quickly encloses it in an ice cage to keep it in place. Jack stands back several paces from the ice cage. He knows skrillers are resilient creatures. Indeed, after a few seconds, it regains its wits and begins to throw around its poisonous stinger. But Jack is far enough away.
The skriller screams and pounds at the sides of its prison like a feral creature, to no avail. Jack’s skills are too strong, and the cage holds.
“Don’t waste your energy, my friend,” Jack says with a smirk. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The skriller bares its teeth and snarls before letting out a vicious hiss. The hissing simmers down, and then the creature musters enough of Jack’s language to sputter, “L-Let me ooout!”
“I will,” Jack says, confident. “In due time. First, though, let’s have a little chat, get to know each other better.”
The skriller lets out a grumble and begins to pace its cage again, realizing the futility of any escape. Then it plops down in the corner of the cage.
“Better,” Jack says.
“What you want, Jack?” it barks.
Jack folds his arms and takes a small step forward, eager to toy with the skriller’s ego by bolstering his own. “So you’ve heard of me, then?”
The skriller resumes its pacing, wearing a grizzly grimace on its face.
“I’ll take that as a yes. I hope you’ve heard only good things.”
The skriller glares at him.
Jack laughs. “Right. Why would they be?”
As Jack marches around the cage, the creature keeps his eyes fixated on him. It hopes Jack will make the mistake of getting close enough for it to plunge that lethal stinger into his chest.
“To answer your question, I need information.”
The skriller continues to hiss and growl between barely coherent words. “What kind of information?”
Jack stops walking. He leans forward, ever so slightly. “Who sent you?”
“Nobody.”
“Sure. You just came to the North Pole to take in all the sights.” Jack’s face darkens, and the skriller begins to squirm. “Let’s not play this game, shall we? We both know you were commissioned to come here. Now who sent you?”
The skriller looks away. “I-I can’t say.”
“Oh, you can...and you will.”
The skriller becomes more and more fearful. “You don’t know what my master will do to me.”
Weary of the nonsense, Frost extends his hand to spin his magic. From the roof of the cage, icicles begin to form. The skriller looks up at the menacing stalactites and gasps as they slide down. It huddles on the ground and covers its eyes.
“It can’t be worse than getting impaled by frozen spikes, can it?” Jack continues to make the ice lower down to the frightened creature.
“Please! Please!”
“Tell me who sent you.”
Icicles begin to pierce the ground around the skriller, the ends getting sharper and sharper.
“Stop, please!”
“I think there’s one near your head—“
“Wait! Wait! I tell you!” the skriller screeches at the top of its lungs.
At once, the icicles cease. “Who?”
“The Claus!”
Jack cranes his neck and cocks a brow. “Sure. Santa sends skrillers against himself in some sort of ruse...”
“Not Santa. Mrs. Claus.”
He stares at the creature, utterly shocked. “I beg your pardon?”
“She is our master.”
He scoffs. “Mrs. Claus is dead, pal. I don’t know if you know that, but lying will only earn you more icicles.”
Jack readies his magic for another icy onslaught, but the skriller pleads again. “Please, no more! I tell you the truth! Santa wants everyone to think she’s dead, but she is very alive.”
Jack lowers his hands, staving off the magic. For now. “Why would she want to kill her husband?” Frost demands. He is still a bit bewildered by the revelation.
“Sir, would you kindly remove these spikes? I don’t do well in small places.”
Jack surveys the area to see if any other skrillers are lurking about. The coast seems clear. “Fine, but keep talking.” He waves his hand, and spikes crumble. “Don’t get too comfortable, buddy. We’re not done here till you’ve told me everything.”
The skriller sighs in relief. “She never died. She left him.”
“After centuries of holy matrimony?”
“She’s greedy.”
Jack frowns. “Are you saying she did it for money? I don’t buy that. Spikes!”
The ice spikes descend again.
The skriller puts up its hands and speaks quickly. “S-Santa wouldn’t share any of the profits, so she left. It’s better to kill him. She wants to control the business, but Santa’s in the way. That’s why she wants us to kill him. She’s evil—pure evil!” the skriller cries, exhibiting more emotion than Jack ever thought them capable of.
Jack stops the spikes again. “Really?”
“I’m telling the truth!” the skriller insists.
He senses that the skriller is not lying. “Very well. What can you tell me about—”
Before he can continue with the interrogation, Jack is interrupted by deafening screeches. He turns to see two other skrillers lunging at him, their stingers drawn. In an instant, Frost barrels out of the way, just missing them.
Jack lands on a branch high above and watches the skrillers below. They hover around their caged comrade.
“I did my part. Your turn, Frost!” the captured skriller screams. “Let me out!”
“Fine,” Jack mutters. The cage shatters.
The skrillers immediately flee. For a moment, he considers following them. They might lead him to Mrs. Claus. But he realizes that is of little consequence now. Whatever hopes he had of joining forces have now been quashed. There’s no use in teaming up wit
h Mrs. Claus. Her motives are just as evil and corrupted.
He sighs to himself.
Things have just gotten more complicated. A new enemy is rising. Once Santa has been eliminated...he will have to go after his wife too.
Chapter Nineteen
I’m always thinking about Lily now. Her smile, her laughter like the tinkling of bells, and how her lips feel when they are pressed against mine. Everything about her lingers in my mind. It helps keep me going when I’m exhausted, running countless laps around the training area or lying on the mat after being completely flattened by a sparring partner or three breaths away from passing out from all the physical exertion. Her sweet face pushes me through it all.
Even now, during my late-night session, while the other trainees are sleeping peacefully at the far end, I am at the shooting range, crossbow in hand. The human dummy standing about thirty yards in front of me has several bolts lodged deep in its chest already. Let’s see if I can get a headshot, I think. I suck in a breath, take aim, and release. Then I then lower my crossbow to examine the target. Bingo! Right between the eyes. My aim has drastically improved over the past weeks, as have my speed, strength, and stamina. All the hard work is paying off.
Soon enough, I’ll be ready. I revisit all the training in my mind. The climbing wall, which once stressed every muscle in my body and left me with injuries that required medical glue, is now nothing more than a small leap for me. Running laps isn’t the easiest thing, but it hardly fazes me like it used to. My hand-to-hand combat skills are Fuego-approved, and very few can say that. Of course, if my hands ever do fail me, I can easily lean on my trusty crossbow. My weapon of choice. I’ve practiced with it nonstop, to the point where it almost feels like an extension of my body.
As sweat drips off my face, I feel triumphant but also very fatigued. I sit down to take a breath. How long have I been at it? Twelve hours? I can’t even remember. Regardless, several minutes later, I’m back on my feet, ready for more.
I head toward the boxing area. There, I pull a chain that is dangling from the ceiling. A large punching bag falls and smacks the floor. I fix the chain so the punching bag stands upright. Once it’s at my level, I raise my fists.
I brace myself, then pound my bare knuckles into the fat of the punching bag. The sounds reverberate off the walls, followed by my grunts as I throw all my energy, emotion, and power into each blow. I imagine pummeling Santa’s stomach, breaking his ribs with my assault. That thought invigorates me and fills me with new energy.
A rustling behind me draws my attention, and I whirl around. I relax when I see Fuego.
For a moment, he just stands there, staring quizzically at me. Then he walks to the other side of the punching bag and grabs it. Up close like that, I notice the roughness of his hands. The scars, nicks. They tell me what kind of life he’s lived.
“All right, Lucian,” Fuego says. “I think you can call it a night.”
I wipe the sweat from my eyes, still breathing hard. “Just a few more minutes?”
Without warning, Fuego shoves the bag at me, but I manage to duck in the nick of time and avoid a head injury. I’ve gotten to know his methodology well by now. When it swings back, I grab it and hold on for support.
He nods, impressed. “Even exhausted, your reflexes withhold.”
I shrug off the compliment. “I need to be better than my best for the battle.”
Fuego smiles. “You sound just like the fighters in my gym.”
“Yeah, right,” I snort. “Training them is probably a cakewalk compared to dealing with an amateur like me.”
Fuego shakes his head. “Nah. The same fire I see inside my other fighters, I see here—inside of you. One that can’t be put out. It’s inspiring. Real fighters have to be near that kind of energy.
I nod my head. “Is that why you became a trainer? To be near the fire?” I ask.
Fuego smiles. “I suppose so.”
Something distracts him from outside the chamber, and his eyes flick to the left. I turn to follow his gaze and see that Jack has just flown in from his recon mission, but Jack quickly moves out of sight.
“Something wrong?” Fuego asks.
I turn to him, folding my arms. “I’m going crazy not knowing how Lily and Zeb are doing,” I admit. “You think Jack knows? I mean, he’s been spying on the village, right?”
“Maybe,” he replies, shrugging. “Ask him sometime.” He gives my shoulder a pat, then heads off to bed, suggesting that I do the same.
I turn back to the punching bag, debating whether to listen to Fuego or hit the weights awhile. I can keep at it for a bit. Ultimately, I decide to call it a day. Better to give my muscles time to heal and recover from the beating I’ve given them. I shower, then head to bed. Tomorrow, I will find Jack and ask him about what he saw in the village.
On the way back down the dark hallway, I hear talking. This late at night? Strange. Most elves are sleeping at such time. With my curiosity rising, I turn a corner and move toward the sound. Closer, I realize it is not mere conversation. It’s an argument, apparently between Jack and the rogues. Why are they arguing? Did something happen?
I tiptoe to the room and stand near the entrance.
“It’s too dangerous,” Jack says firmly. “We need a new plan.”
“Nonsense! I can vaporize those runts with one arm!” Bullets scoffs.
Tiktok chimes in. “Bullets is right. We should change nothing. Our plan is solid.”
“I’m not so sure anymore,” Jack argues.
Crap. What did he see?
I move a little closer, but, in the darkness, I scrape my head against the rock wall, dislodging a pebble that falls to the floor with a tiny, tinkling sound. I hold my breath. Surely they couldn’t have heard that.
Turns out I’m wrong. Before I know it, Yuriko is standing in front of me, with her katana blade right at my throat.
I gasp in a breath and hold up my empty hands.
She stares at me, her eyes narrow slits. “Lucian?”
“S-Sorry,” I stutter when she removes her weapon, allowing me to breathe again. I lower my hands. “I really didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
She gives me a skeptical look, then motions me to follow her back into the small cave where everyone else is.
The other rogues regard me with a variety of emotions on their faces. Tiktok seems the most bothered by my interruption. Surprise, surprise.
Ignoring his withering glare, I turn to Jack. I’m only interested in what our leader has to say. “Hi, Jack. I was, uh...just wondering if you know anything about Lily or Zeb,” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Afraid not. I’m sorry.”
I look around at the others. No one has anything to offer, other than disapproval. “Oh. All right then,” I say. “I’ll just be going then.” I turn to leave, but I can’t help questioning what I overheard. “There is one more thing though.”
“Yes?” Jack says, folding his arms behind his back.
“Is everything still set for our attack?”
The expression on Jack’s face is one of uncertainty as he glances from me to the other rogues, all of whom display the same uneasiness as him. Something definitely isn’t right. I’m glad I found the courage to stand my ground and ask about it.
Fuego lets out a breath and turns to Jack. “He deserves to know,” the man states. “They all do.”
“To know what?” I demand.
“We might have to re-strategize, Lucian,” he tells me in a grave tone. “There’s...a new complication, one we did not foresee.”
“What kind of complication?” I ask, feeling my anxiety rising all over again.
“Santa has doubled his security force,” Jack says.
Wait. Doubled it? But Oleg and his goons were enough already! My jaw involuntarily drops, but I quickly snap it shut, knowing I have to at least appear calm and collected. It’s almost impossible to not freak out over the new development though. We were already undermanned and outnumbered.
“Yes,” Yuriko confirms. “Over 200 guards are patrolling the village now. That’s why we may need to rethink our strategy.”
“We need to attack on Christmas Day,” Tiktok declares. “Santa is throwing a thank-you party for his guards, and most of them will be in the cafeteria. Celebrating. Drinking. At their most vulnerable.” When he doesn’t get an answer, he looks Jack straight in the eye and adds, “You said so yourself, Jack. We won’t get another chance like this.”
“He’s right,” Bullets agrees, nodding. “Trust the plan. His bombs will destroy most of the guards. And we can handle any leftovers.”
Jack takes in all of their advice and opinions but appears to be at war with himself. I don’t blame him. How is he supposed to make the decision? One that could spell victory or disaster for everyone? Surprisingly enough, he addresses me. “What do you think, Lucian?”
“Me?” I ask, pointing at my chest.
“Your life is on the line, too, is it not?”
I stare at him, wondering if it is some sort of test. After several moments, I speak up, firm and confident. “I trust the plan. I say we attack.”
Jack, however, still doesn’t seem so convinced. He gives me an appraising gaze. “And the others?”
“It doesn’t matter if he has 100 guards or 1,000,” I scoff. “Not after what Santa did to them. They will still march into battle. They want blood.” They deserve blood.
Jack is thoughtful. “It’s settled then.”
“What about Wintress?” Fuego asks. “We could ask her for help.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Wintress?”
“A very powerful being,” Jack replies seriously. “She guards all animal life.”
Tiktok snorts. “Right—animals,” he repeats. “She cares nothing about elves.”
From the sound of it, this Wintress could prove to be an invualuable ally. If we can convince her to join us. But how? If she only looks after animals, what stake does she have in the situation? Until I’m reminded of the overworked reindeer and huskies in the village. The lab mice. Would that give her enough reason to help us?
“But Santa's working animals to death too,” I say. “If she knows this, she might help. Take me with you. I'll tell her.”