by Matt Haig
‘Leave him be! We’re elves!’ Father Topo was now shouting. ‘Where has our kindness gone? Come on, we’re elves. We didn’t used to be like this.’
Nikolas’s shoulders burned with pain as he hauled himself back up onto the cold slate roof in time to see the largest reindeer of them all charging towards him, urging himself closer, overtaking the others. His eyes were fixed on the roof with the same determination that had helped him climb the mountain.
‘Blitzen!’
Father Vodol had seen him too.
‘Fire!’ he shouted. A guard knelt in the snow and aimed his carefully made longbow – or, as this was an elf – a shortbow at them. He pulled the string back with his teeth as he grabbed an arrow, positioned it, and fired. A dark line sped through the air, and whistled past Nikolas’s ear. Father Vodol, roaring with frustration, threw the axe at Blitzen and it span through the air, but Blitzen ducked down, fast, and dipped his head so the arrow narrowly missed its target and sliced off the tip of one of his antlers instead. Nikolas ran forward, keeping his eyes on Blitzen and hoping as much as anyone can hope, and leapt into the air. He closed his eyes, hoped some more. The hope was answered. He landed on Blitzen’s back.
‘Stop them!’ screamed Father Vodol.
‘Go, go, go!’ shouted Nikolas, as Blitzen galloped at incredible speed through the air. ‘South! To the mountain!’
And they flew on, dodging flying axes and streaming arrows, until sheer hope and determination led them towards the sunrise.
The Search
They flew through the blustery air over forests full of snow-covered spruce trees and icy lakes. A landscape of white land and silver water. There were no signs of human life. No signs of Christmas Eve excitement. From up high, the land looked as still and flat as a map. They were travelling so fast that what would have taken them a day by land took them only minutes. The cold wind was strong, but Nikolas hardly felt it. Indeed, since he’d been drimwicked he had barely noticed the cold. No, that wasn’t quite true. He had been aware of the cold, but it hadn’t bothered him. It just was.
Nikolas felt such relief that he had escaped and at the possibility that his father was alive, such delight and wonder that he could make magic that he suddenly right there, half a mile above a lake, let out the biggest laugh of his life. It was a laugh that came from deep inside his belly. Less of a ‘ha ha ha’ and more of a ‘ho ho ho!’
The kind of jolly laugh his mother used to have.
He leant forward and wrapped his arms around Blitzen.
‘You are a true friend!’ he told him. ‘And I’m sorry about what happened to your antler.’
Blitzen gave a quick raise of his head, as if to say ‘that’s all right’ and galloped on.
They were headed directly south, following the only road, the most obvious route, towards home. Nikolas wondered if his father was already there, perhaps back in the forest chopping wood.
By mid-morning a grey mist had settled around them and doubt began to creep into his head. What if Nikolas’s father had kidnapped Little Kip? He dismissed the thought. No, his dear papa would never do something like that. That would be impossible. Wouldn’t it?
With a heavy heart Nikolas realised what he had to do before he could return home. He had to find Little Kip. He had to find the truth. He had to prove to the elves that his father was a good man. There must be some explanation.
Little Kip had probably just run away from home, just as Nikolas had. All he needed to do was find the elf boy and everything would become clear.
So they flew on and on and on. The reindeer swooped low above forests and higher over fields and the broad clay plains that seemed to stretch towards infinity in the hope they might see Little Kip.
The only thing they didn’t do was fly directly over towns because Nikolas didn’t know how people might react to seeing a boy on a reindeer flying over their heads. But sometimes they did see people. Which made Blitzen happy.
You see, the other thing Nikolas had realised about Blitzen was that he had a sense of humour. And the thing he found really funny was weeing on people. He’d hold it in, for as long as possible, and then when he saw someone far below he’d just, well, wee. And the people in question would just think it was raining.
‘That’s not a very nice Christmas present, Blitzen!’ Nikolas said, but he couldn’t help laughing.
On and on they travelled, fast and slow and low and high, north and east and south and west, but without success. Nikolas felt increasingly desperate. Maybe he should just go home after all. He was beginning to feel so tired and he knew Blitzen must be even more so. It had started snowing again.
‘Come on,’ said Nikolas, ‘we need to rest for the night.’ He had spotted a forest of pine trees immediately to the west. ‘Let’s land over there and find some shelter.’ So Blitzen, ever responsive to Nikolas’s commands, angled westwards and flew lower and lower, weaving between the snow-capped pine trees, until they saw a break in the branches, just beyond a ravine.
‘This is going to be a strange Christmas,’ thought Nikolas.
They settled, amid the tall looming trees, beneath a canopy of branches. Nikolas and Blitzen lay back-to-back, and just as Nikolas was starting to drift into a dreamless sleep he heard something.
A crack of a twig.
Voices.
Men’s voices.
Nikolas sat bolt upright and listened hard. It was pitch black now, but the man speaking – in a slow, strong voice – seemed familiar. Nikolas gasped.
It was the voice of the man who had visited his father. Anders the hunter.
‘Blitzen,’ Nikolas whispered. ‘I think it’s them. Wait there.’ And Nikolas got to his feet and tiptoed carefully over the dry ground.
He saw a gold and orange glow. It grew brighter. A campfire. Shadows were moving like dark ghosts. As he got closer he could see a group of large huddled silhouettes sitting around the fire, talking. The voices were more distinct now.
‘We’re only days away from Turku,’ said one. ‘We’ll be there by New Year!’
‘A week away until we give our little present to the king!’ said another.
‘I thought we were going home first,’ said a voice he knew better than any voice in the world. The sound of it caused Nikolas’s heart to miss a beat. Fear and love flooded through him. He was about to shout out ‘Papa’, but something stopped him and he simply waited, quiet in the stillness of the night.
‘No, we promised. The king has to have it before the New Year.’
Nikolas could hardly breathe. His heart was thumping in his chest, but he knew he must try and stay calm. Be the forest.
‘Well, I promised my son I would be home by now.’
‘It depends which promise you want to keep! The one to the king, or the one to your son!’
The sound of laughter filled the forest, echoing off the trees so that it felt like it was coming from everywhere. Birds flapped away from their branches, squawking in fear.
‘We better be quiet,’ one of the men said, ‘or we’ll wake him.’
‘Oh,’ said another, ‘don’t worry about it. Elves sleep soundly!’
Nikolas’s stomach felt too light, as if he was falling. He thought he was going to be sick. Or collapse.
‘What does it matter?’ said Anders. ‘He’s in a cage. It’s not as if he can go anywhere.’
It was true!
Nikolas strained his eyes to see beyond the trees. There, on the other side of the fire and the men, was a strange box-shaped thing. He couldn’t quite see the elf boy, but he knew that he was there. The men carried on talking.
‘Just keep thinking of the money, Joel. You’ll never have to worry about Christmas again.’
‘All that money.’
‘What would you do with it? What would you buy for Christmas?’
‘I’d buy a farm.’
‘I’d just look at it,’ said another one, who was called Aatu, though Nikolas didn’t know that yet. Aatu had a very lar
ge head with a very small brain inside. He had wild hair and a wild beard which made him look like someone peeping through a bush. ‘And after I looked at it I’d buy a toilet.’
‘A toilet? What’s a toilet?’
‘It’s a new invention. I heard about it. The king’s got one. It’s a magic chamber pot. With bowels like mine it’s got to be a good investment. And I’d buy a really nice candle. I like candles. I’d buy a big red candle.’
The men fell to murmuring among themselves and Nikolas took his chance. Crouching on his hands and knees he crept slowly forwards, dodging pine cones, breathing slowly as he weaved through the trees, always keeping a safe distance from the men.
Eventually, he reached the cage. It was made of wood and tied firmly with rope to the solid timber of a sleigh. A painted sleigh. The sleigh engraved with the word ‘Christmas’. His sleigh. Inside the cage, curled up, was a little elf boy. He wore the same kind of deep green tunic – and looked roughly the same age – as Little Noosh. He had brown, very straight hair and large ears, even for an elf, but a tiny nose. And though his far-apart eyes were closed, he had a down-turned mouth and his face was creased with worry.
Nikolas remembered his own brief but horrible time as a prisoner. He stood there wondering what he could do. There was no path. Just trees to one side, and the clearing to the other. He was trembling with fear but he knew he must wait for his father and the other men to fall asleep.
Little Kip opened his eyes and stared straight at Nikolas. For a moment it looked as if he was going to scream.
‘Sssh,’ Nikolas said softly, with his finger on his lips. ‘I’m here to help you.’
Little Kip was still a very young elf, and although he didn’t know Nikolas he was skilled at spotting goodness inside someone, and could see the kindness in Nikolas’s eyes. He seemed to understand.
‘I’m scared,’ said the elf, in elf.
But Nikolas understood. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Is it?’
‘Well, no. Not right now. But it will be . . .’
But then, a fierce rough voice seemed to come out of nowhere. ‘Happy Christmas.’
Nikolas turned around and saw one of the men, a tall skinny man with a crooked face wearing a woollen hat with flaps over his ears. He was pointing an arrow and crossbow at him.
‘Who are you? Tell me. Or you’re dead.’
The Elf Boy
I’m just lost in the forest,’ Nikolas stammered. ‘I’m not causing any trouble.’
‘Hey!’ shouted the man. ‘I asked you who you are. It’s the middle of the night. You’re up to something. Tell me or I’ll put an arrow through you.’
Nikolas heard some of the other men, waking up, talking, confused.
‘I’m Nikolas. I’m just . . . a boy.’
‘A boy wandering the forest in the middle of the night!’
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no,’ said Little Kip. Or maybe it was ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no’. But anyway, to all human ears except Nikolas, it just sounded like ‘keebum, keebum, keebum.’
Then some footsteps, and a familiar voice. ‘I know who he is,’ said Anders, as he loomed over Nikolas. ‘He’s Joel’s son. Put the crossbow down, Toivo. He isn’t here for trouble. That’s right, isn’t it, boy?’
More shadows. The other men – five of them – were walking towards him.
His father spoke up. ‘Nikolas? Is that you?’ he asked. Total disbelief.
Nikolas looked into his father’s face and felt scared. Maybe it was because he had grown a beard. Or maybe it was something else. The eyes, those familiar eyes, now seemed dark and distant, like those of a stranger. Nikolas was so overwhelmed he could hardly speak.
‘Papa. Yes, it’s me.’
Joel ran over and threw his arms around his son. He hugged Nikolas till he thought his ribs would break. Nikolas hugged him back, trying to believe he was still the good father he had always imagined him to be. He felt his father’s beard prickle his cheek. It felt lovely, comforting.
‘What are you doing here?’ Nikolas sensed quiet urgency in his father’s question.
He didn’t know what to say, but he decided to do what his mother had taught him to do when he was in trouble. He took a deep breath and told the truth. ‘I wasn’t getting on with Aunt Carlotta. So I went to look for you. And so I headed to the Far North, and found Elfhelm . . . And then the elves put me in prison.’
His father’s face softened, his eyes crinkled, and he seemed familiar again. ‘Oh, Nikolas, my poor boy! What happened?’
‘They locked me in the tower because they don’t trust humans.’
Nikolas looked at the elf shackled to the cage by his wrists and ankles and then behind him at the six other men who were standing in the moonlight. Nikolas desperately wanted him to tell them to go away. He wanted to believe in his father and continued to hope that this was all a mix-up, a misunderstanding.
‘Well, son,’ his father said, drawing himself up to his full height and looking very solemn. ‘I have to say, those stories I told you about how happy and kind the elves were, were just that – stories. I discovered that the elves aren’t who we thought they would be.’
Nikolas looked at Little Kip who was staring at him, beseechingly, from his cage. The elf was too scared to speak. And Nikolas couldn’t help but feel betrayed, as if everything he had ever known was a lie. ‘You didn’t tell me you were going to kidnap an elf. You said you were going to find proof of Elfhelm.’
‘Yes,’ said his father, seemingly eager and sincere. ‘And what could be better proof than a real-life elf?’
‘But you lied to me.’
‘I didn’t lie. I didn’t quite know what kind of proof we would find. I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.’
Nikolas looked at the large menacing gang of men in the dark and silent forest. ‘Did they make you do it, Papa?’
Anders laughed and the others followed, sending a clatter of voices through the forest.
Joel winced. ‘No. No one made me do it.’
‘Tell him, Joel,’ said Anders. ‘Why don’t you tell him what really happened?’
Joel nodded, nervously looking at his son. He swallowed. ‘Well, Nikolas, in fact, it was my idea. When Anders came to me that night, I suggested it. I said the best evidence would be if we got a real-life elf and took it to the king.’
Nikolas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The words stung him like vinegar in a cut. His own father was a kidnapper. Most people grow up gradually, over many years, but standing there in the still forest, Nikolas lost his childhood in a second. Nothing makes you grow up quicker than discovering your father is not the man you think he is.
‘How could you do that?’
His father sighed. It was a long sigh. ‘It’s a lot of money, Nikolas. Three thousand rubles. That could buy us a cow. Or . . . or a pig. We’ll be able to have a very good Christmas next year. The kind of Christmas me and Carlotta never knew. I’ll be able to buy you toys.’
‘Or a toilet!’ said Aartu, from somewhere behind his beard.
Joel ignored his dim-witted friend and carried on. ‘I’ll be able to buy a horse and a new cart. We’d ride into town, and people would look at us, admire us, and be jealous of how much money we have.’
Anger bubbled inside Nikolas. ‘Why? I don’t want people to be jealous! I want people to be happy!’
Joel looked back to the other men, who were clearly entertained by this conversation. He frowned with frustration and turned back to Nikolas. ‘Well, you need to learn about the world, my son. You’re a child, and I’m not, and I know about the world. It’s a selfish place. No one will look after you. You have to look after yourself. And that’s what I’m doing, all right? No one was ever kind to me. No one ever gave me presents. I used to cry, every Christmas Day, because I never got a single thing. Other children had at least one little present from their parents. But me and Carlotta, we had nothing. But next birthday, next Christmas, I can buy you anything you want . . .’
Nikolas looked again at the cage, and the ropes. ‘I was happy with the sleigh. I was happy with you and Miika. I was even happy with the turnip-doll!’
‘Next Christmas you’ll thank me. Not this one. It’s too late for that. But next one. You’ll see. I promise.’
‘No,’ said Nikolas. Just saying the word felt like turning a key inside his mind, locking out any weakness.
‘What are you talking about?’
Nikolas took a big breath, as if inhaling courage. ‘No. I’m going to take Little Kip back to Elfhelm. Back to his home.’
The men laughed some more. The sound clattered through Nikolas, making him feel scared and angry at the same time. One of them – a gruff-voiced man with a coat made of reindeer skin – snarled, ‘No, you’re not. Tell him, Toivo.’
Toivo raised his crossbow again, and spat on the ground.
Joel turned to see the weapon. ‘I’m sorry, Nikolas, but you’re not taking him back. There’s too much at stake.’
‘If you loved me more than you loved money, then you would do it. Papa, please. Toys are great. But being good is better than being rich. You could never be happy as a kidnapper.’
‘I’ve never been happy as a woodcutter, either,’ said Joel, his face screwed up as if he was in pain. ‘Now, if all goes according to plan I’ll have a chance to find out what life has to offer.’
Nikolas shook his head. He began to cry. He couldn’t help it. There was too much inside him. Anger, fear, disappointment. He loved his father, and yet this man who he loved had stolen an elf boy from his own home and put him in a cage.
Nikolas wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He thought of Father Topo’s words to Little Noosh. We must never let fear be our guide. ‘Let’s take the elf back,’ said Nikolas, in a louder voice, looking around at all of the men. ‘The elves would be happy. They might even give us a reward. We must take Little Kip back to his family.’