The Elf

by Max Dune

He smiles broadly. His plan had worked. Thank goodness she’s getting out of this godforsaken place, he thinks. The realization helps alleviate the foul mood Santa’s lying announcement has left him in. “Really?” he asks, his teeth glistening like diamonds in the darkness.

  Lily nods. After much thinking, as well as a little coaxing Pepper, she realized it is the right decision. She had even started packing. The wind picks up and blows a snow at their feet. “Yeah, I took your advice.” She lets out a small sniffle. “I’m leaving next week.”

  He nods to himself. “I’m glad.”

  He sounds sincere, yet something in his eyes worries her. “You’ll be okay here, right?” she asks. How will he fare with Lucian and Lily gone? They were his closest friends here. His only friends, come to think of it; Zeb is an acquired taste.

  Zeb waves off her concern with a mittened hand, and a little twinkle dances in his hazel eyes again. “Does a one-legged duck swim in circles?”

  She chuckles at the image. How does he always know what to say to make her feel good inside? Lily feels a slight pang in her chest, knowing that she is going to miss him deeply, but for now, she just wants to enjoy this moment and burn it forever into her memory.

  She rests her head on Zeb’s shoulder. For what seems like a good, long moment, she just sits silently, watching the Christmas tree with him, feeling the cold, arctic breeze caress her face. Of course, like all good things, it has to come to an end.

  “Curfew starts in ten minutes,” a voice says genially over the village loudspeakers. “Stay cheerful.”

  Chapter Twenty–Four

  We gather in the training area to prepare for the night attack. Everyone is dressed in white and gray camouflage, perfect for blending in with the snow and trees. I can tell all the other trainees are raring to go.

  Bullets goes from elf to elf, handing out extra clips of ammo, as well as offering some final advice. “Remember, firm grip, smooth pull,” he says once the last of the extra ammunition is distributed.

  Tiktok calls for our attention and holds up a small bomb, that Frisbee-like design he favors. “Listen up!” he orders. “I’m giving each of you an explosive, in case things get dicey. If you need to use it, just press the red button and throw it. It will explode on impact.”

  When he hands me the first one, I admire his handiwork. It’s cold and smooth and fits easily in my palm. I place it in my coat pocket. Here’s hoping I don’t have to use it.

  “Use them wisely, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, with a serious look on his face as he continues passing them out. “These are not toys.”

  The others around me all study the bombs for a moment, then place them in their backpacks and await Jack’s next orders.

  I offer Chance a weak smile. “Guess we’re all set.”

  “Hang on a moment,” he says. “I have something for you.”

  “Oh?”

  He reaches into a duffle bag on the floor and pulls out a crossbow.

  “The Eclipse XT!” I gush, recognizing the model immediately. “Gosh, I must’ve built thousands of these.”

  “I know,” he says, grinning from ear to ear with a sneakiness in his eyes. “But I modified this one.”

  “Modified it? How so?”

  “For one thing, it’s automatic.”

  I flip it around and see the added mechanism. Holy smokes.

  “Look here,” he says, pointing to a small arm on the stock. “It self-cocks now. That’ll come in handy, considering the numbers we’re going against. Also, added a laser scope for night shooting.” He points out the unit under the bow. “And I came up with the last mod after talking to Fuego. See here, in the hollowed-out barrel?”

  I peer and nod. “What is it?”

  “A gas cylinder. Obviously, it won’t cause as much damage as Fuego’s flamethrower, but it’ll work in a pinch.”

  I look at Chance in amazement—somehow, he managed to squeeze an entire arsenal of firepower into my crossbow.

  “You’ve got enough to get off a few rounds of fire,” he continues, eyes shining. “You activate it with the secondary trigger. Try it on. See how it feels.”

  I give it another once-over, then sling the crossbow over my shoulder.

  “Not too heavy, is it?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “It’s...perfect,” I say, thrilled. “I don’t know how to thank you, Chance.”

  He just shrugs my praise away, seemingly embarrassed by it. “No worries, man. I enjoyed creating it. Made me feel useful.”

  Just as I’m about to say something else, the murmuring around us suddenly stops. Jack has arrived.

  He walks over to us, dressed in the same camouflage as everyone else. His pale face is laced with fierce determination. He gives me a quick nod before addressing the whole group. “The time has come.”

  We all straighten, fall into a line, and follow him. I spare one fleeting glance at the cavern over my shoulder, wondering if I’ll ever see the place again and if what I’ve learned here will be enough to keep me alive.

  Another treat awaits outside: a large, winterized Humvee. The white vehicle appears to be spacious enough for everyone. The group heads over to inspect it, and a chorus of “Ooh”-ing and “Ah”-ing ensues the closer we get to it.

  “At least we’ll be riding to battle in style,” someone says. The trainees laugh.

  “Yeah, well, let’s just hope the thing doesn’t have to double as a hearse,” someone else says. That stops the laughter.

  Chance and the other trainees cram into the back part of the Humvee, chattering excitedly as they do.

  I’m just about to get in when Jack holds out a hand and blocks me. His voice drops an octave. “Do you remember where I dropped you off last time?”

  I swallow. “Yes.”

  He nods once. “Take them there. It’s a good spot. We’ll be able to watch the village, with plenty of tree coverage.”

  “So I’m driving?”

  He chuckles. “No. We’ll leave that to Bullets, but make sure to get them where they need to go. While you are, I’ll fly ahead and do some last-minute surveillance. Make sure everything still checks out.”

  “Got it.” I pause. “Any word from Wintress?”

  “No,” he says, although he doesn’t sound disappointed. “She’s obviously made her decision, and we don’t have time to wait for her to change her mind. As far as I’m concerned, I have my whole team right here.” He takes several steps back. “I’ll see you soon.” Then he flies up into the sky and disappears into the low-hanging clouds.

  Bullets’s deep voice booms. “All right, maggots, let’s move!”

  The Rogues and I climb in. I sit between Tiktok and Yuriko, in the middle seat. Bullets takes the steering wheel, while Fuego acts as his co-pilot. The ride down the mountain is a bumpy one, even though Bullets opts for a less steep route. Yet the big vehicle remains stable, even at extreme angles, soldiering on like there’s no tomorrow. Still, it’s only when we reach the bottom of the mountain that I’m able to stop gritting my teeth.

  Bullets grins back at us. “Wasn’t that fun, y’all?”

  An elf behind me moans and sounds as if he’s dangerously close to barfing.

  As we drive under the bright sun, the artic landscape rolls by. I look out at the snow-capped mountains, through low valleys, across the open tundra, and, finally, through the black forest where I encountered the wolves. A cloud of numbness sweeps over me. Blitzen. How miss my old friend. I still blame myself for his death, and every time he comes to mind, guilt floods me all over again.

  I close my eyes and try to swallow it down.

  I won’t let his death be in vain.

  Someone’s hand rests softly on my forearm. I open my eyes to see Yuriko watching me, sympathetic and alert.

  “He is resting now,” she whispers.

  I frown. “But how... I mean, I never told anyone. How do you know?”

  “Because I saw it.” She takes her hand back. “You weren’t alone on your journey, L
ucian.”

  “You followed us the whole time?”

  “I did.”

  “Geez. I had no idea,” I admit, a bit ashamed. We journeyed four days, without me ever once having any inclination that she was on our trail. “That says a lot about my situational awareness, huh?”

  She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t give it too much thought. Most of my training centered on learning how to blend in, becoming one with the environment.”

  “Invisibility is the best defense,” I agree.

  “Yes. It serves me well in my line of duty,” Yuriko murmurs.

  It’s only now that I realize just how little I know about her. She hasn’t shared much about her past. Given her murderous occupation, I can understand why she’d be hesitant to do so. I’ve been tempted to ask her about what it’s really like to be a ninja—an assassin. But I always chicken out. As we ride to what may very well be my death, however, my apprehension begins to dissolve. “Um...how does one get into, uh...what you do?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

  She looks at me sideways. “Thinking of switching careers?”

  I look around and chuckle lightly. “I believe I already have.”

  “Touché.” She is silent awhile. “In my case, I was born into it. Although I live in Japan, I was born in China. Have you heard of their one-child policy?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, it was heavily enforced at the time. If parents had more than one child, it came with a hefty fine, as well as a lot of public stigma.

  “How hefty was the fine?” I ask.

  “It varied. Some villages hit families with fines between five and ten times their annual disposable income.”

  I can’t help make a face. Such laws seem ludicrous to me, an American.

  “Enough that my own parents abandoned me in a temple in Beijing.” She smiles at me, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s called the Temple of Heaven. Ironic, no?”

  I remain silent, fascinated by her story.

  “In ancient times, emperors prayed there and made sacrifices to the god of heaven for good harvests. Now it’s just a popular tourist attraction.” She pauses for a moment, as if lost in her thoughts, then continues. “A visiting woman found me crying under a gold altar. She took me with her to Japan and raised me there.”

  Recalling the last martial arts movie I saw with Zeb, I ask, “Did you live in a dojo?”

  The amused expression on her face tells me it was probably a stupid question, but she graciously answers. “No. We lived in a small village. My new family worked as farmers.”

  I scrunch up my face in confusion. “Farmers? Then how did you learn to, well, ninja?”

  “Much of our art lies in catching people unaware,” Yuriko says. “We achieved this by blending in, looking like everyone else. Who would ever suspect common farmers to be masters of subterfuge? Remember, Lucian. Invisibility.” She runs a hand over the katana nestled by her side. “As a teen, I began working as a maid. My training in the arts was already complete by then. It was much easier to infiltrate enemy organizations under the guise of such a menial job, the kind of job that everyone ignores.”

  I picture the younger Yuriko, quietly cleaning her target’s home, spying all the while, learning their secrets, planning their demise. Nobody would suspect such a wisp of a girl. A perfect choice. A perfect killer. For some reason, as she talks, my family pops into my mind. “What about your birth parents?” I ask.

  “What about them?” Yuriko responds.

  “You never looked for them?”

  Her face darkens. “Why would I? They made their choice, and I made mine.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, the only reply I can think of.

  She looks out the window. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  Our conversation comes to halt, and the rest of our ride is spent listening to the loud vibrations of the lumbering vehicle, a constant mechanical lullaby that puts most of us to sleep. I manage to stay awake, though, thanks to my taut nerves. I watch as the sun eventually dips in the horizon and nightfall sets in.

  Bullets and Fuego use night-vision goggles to navigate during this time. The headlights are too risky. They might give away our location. It is dark for some time before we reach the forest around the perimeter of Santa’s Village.

  Bullets slams on the brakes, startling the dozing elves awake.

  “All right, folks,” I say. “We’re about ten miles from the village. From here, I say we hoof it. Any closer, and they’ll hear us coming in.”

  Some are less enthusiastic about the idea than others, and I don’t blame them. Ten miles is awfully long hike when trekking through freezing temperatures with heavy weaponry.

  “You heard the man,” Bullets says threateningly. “Move out!”

  At his order, everyone takes action, not even daring a grumble. The elf troops make their way out into the cold, windy night.

  “Follow me,” I say, recognizing where we are.

  As we walk through the shadowy forest, our senses are on full alert, taking in all of our surroundings. Every rustling leaf, every creaking branch. Nothing escapes our eyes or ears. We reach the spot where Jack sent me. We’re about a half-mile from the village. There are no guards in sight. Apparently, Santa hasn’t gotten paranoid enough to order nightly patrols of the forest. Either that or the lazy guards just skip that duty.

  I hold my hand up to stop everyone as the village lights come into focus in the distance. “This is it,” I announce. “The guards won’t spot us here, not this far out, as long as we stay under tree cover.”

  “You sure about that?” Fuego asks, glancing around the area doubtfully.

  “He’s positive,” comes a voice from above.

  We all look up to find Jack floating over us.

  He lands on the snow.

  “What’s happening in the village?” Yuriko asks.

  “Curfew just started,” Jack answers.

  “Good,” I say, relieved by the news. “The worker elves will be safe in their rooms.”

  Tiktok turns to Jack. “What about the guards?”

  Jack smirks. “Getting ready to party,” he replies. “They’re hauling dozens of beer kegs and vodka bottles into the cafeteria right now. Those Russians know how to get down.” He sounds wistful. “If we didn’t have to kill them, I’d have half a mind to join them.”

  Chance snickers behind me, as do a few other trainees. Even in the face of death, Jack’s demented humor manages to shine. I do hope he gets to meet Zeb. They’d get along splendidly.

  “So what then? We wait till their drunk out of their minds and ambush them?” Bullets asks.

  “That’s the idea,” Jack says. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Bullets says. “Always a little easier to fight an enemy who can’t walk in a straight line.”

  * * *

  Santa’s Village is almost eerily quiet outside the cafeteria. Faint whispers of music emanate from the building and float through the air on the cold breeze now and then, broken only by the crunching footsteps of the dozen guards patrolling the premises. Two are posted at the main entrance of the cafeteria, making lewd jokes about the local females, trying to decide who’s the best-looking one.

  Inside, it’s a different story. Loud, thumping Russian hip-hop blasts through the smoke-filled hall where most of the village security force is partying. The boisterous men speak and cheer in their native tongue. There’s not an empty red cup in sight.

  “Pobeda!” one tall guard yells, hitting the bull’s-eye on the dartboard. His opponents jeer as another comrade heads to the wall and pulls the darts for the next game.

  At the center of the hall, five stone-faced men sit at a table, engaged in a serious game of five-card stud.

  Actually, only four of them are stone-faced; Santa, dressed in a burgundy sweater and black pants, seems pleased as punch, smiling and laughing endlessly. After all, it is a night of celebration. He takes out a fat Cuban cigar, lights t
he imported treat, and lays down his hand in front of the players. “What do ya know, gentlemen? Royal flush.”

  Two frustrated players toss their cards angrily on the table, and the other two just shake their heads.

  “Ha!” Santa crows. “Hand it over, fellas.”

  Over the next couple hours, the pile of money on Santa’s side of the table grows. It’s like he doesn’t know how to lose. If the guards suspect him of cheating, they keep it to themselves. Accusing Santa of foul play simply isn’t an option. Unlike the workers elves, they’ve seen what his wrath and destructive anger looks like. They want no part of it. No, not tonight. It’s a party. A time for crazy, drunken fun.

  The party only gets wilder and wilder as the night progresses. Grey Goose bottles and Corona cans litter the floor. The guards begin stumbling around like toddlers, too inebriated to maintain their balance. Many opt to stay in their chairs. They sway back and forth, seemingly on the brink of passing out.

  All the while, Santa’s booming laughter fills the place.

  * * *

  The hours pass by slowly while we hunker down in the cold. Every once in a while, Jack rockets up in the sky to take a look at the village through his binoculars, waiting for the party to take its toll on the guards. Unfortunately for us, they’re no lightweights. They can hold their liquor. When Jack descends for the fifth time, he finally has a smile on his face.

  I am anxious. “Is it time?”

  He nods. “They’re staggering and stumbling all over the place.” He turns to Tiktok. “You ready?”

  “I’ve been ready,” Tiktok replies, adjusting a dial on the remote in his hand. The tiny red lights turn on. “And so are my bombs.”

  Jack faces the rest of us. “Listen up! We’ll go over this one more time.” The groups hushes. “I will fly Tiktok to the cafeteria roof so he can set the explosives. As soon as we’re clear, we’ll detonate them. The cave-in will take out most of the guards, especially since they’re too drunk to react properly. Those that remain will be your targets. Everyone clear?”

  We all nod.

  Jack hands me the binoculars. “Keep an eye out, Lucian.”