Nicholas- the Fantastic Origin of Santa Claus

by Cody W Urban

  “She has befriended me,” he explained regarding the wolf. “I have chosen to name her Juno. ‘Tis a heavenly, fair sounding name. I think it suits her.”

  “Mid Alfheim is well dressed in holly and mistletoe,” Tomte began to say turning to lead the way back home after a full day’s accomplishment. “I foresee a magnificent Yule this year! Hundreds have I experienced and each one is as special as the first, you know?”

  Nicholas had stopped listening when, on their trail, he found a black lump on the ground that—a familiar relic from a past seemingly a lifetime ago. It was coal. Elves, he had noticed, never used coal. Even to forge metal, they had a way of manufacturing a kind of oil that burned hot enough to smelt and used that in combination with wood. Coal was a reminder of mankind, a species he hadn’t seen for a long time now. After lifting up the coal, he caught sight of wagon wheel impressions in the morass and footprints in the snow.

  “What have you found?” Tomte asked, finally recognizing Nicholas had halted.

  “Men have been hither,” Nicholas replied.

  Tomte, in his merry way, approached and looked at the signs in the ground. “The Nordic folk, Scandinavians and the likes, must have been-“ Tomte started to say when he took sight of the coal in Nicholas’s hand. “Drop that dark thing. It only beckons fire and destruction.”

  Nicholas looked at it. “This is just a chunk of coal!” he thought. Then he considered the superstitions of the Elves, like their mistletoe ward of evil and their glamorized symbolism in the Yule Festival. Coal was probably among that mythology in one way or another. “And what of my people?” he asked Tomte.

  “Alfheim they shall find not. I assure ye of that,” he replied, looked around with caution, then turned and walked away in a far more hurried manner than before. Nicholas looked down at the coal. It reminded him of the furnaces in which men forged iron for staves, spears, armor, and swords. It reminded him of the bloodshed happening south of him and those two leaders of men, two corrupted hearts who wielded human beings as their means for power and rule—who needed someone to defy them and overthrow them. Nicholas in no way wanted to take their places, but he knew evil needed to be stopped. And with his faith on unstable terms, he thought God did it far too slowly and seldom. Nicholas shoved the black lump into his coat pocket.

  2

  Angels from the realms of glory,

  Wing your flight o’er all the Earth;

  You who sang creation’s story.

  As the world revolved like a spinning top about the great star, it continued its path to that point of orbit that hails another Yule Festival. To Nicholas, he would go through the motions, keep his friends happy without debate or question, and would make the best of it. Oh how that innermost voice enjoyed the celebration, for that deep part of him still maintained his beliefs fervently and adored the blessed occasion, but that was deep under the frosted layer Nicholas had built up around his heart to shield himself from the anguish of his loss and to keep a fire burning in his mind; a fire fueled to one day right those wrongs, if ever he could muster the will to exit this blessed realm. Part of his fear was even facing Nysa, whom he believed lived in luxury and abundance, and while he so wanted to end Vasilis, he worried that his return would harm her. His delay was exaggerated by his vision of her pregnancy and he felt he would be more of a villain to wreck a family, even one founded upon falsities. All of that kept him there plus the fact that Nicholas was still fearful of change and hesitant to depart from a place that felt more like home than any land ever before. Until he could find that courage to leave and embark on the dangerous journey, he would enjoy what he could there in Alfheim.

  Candles and torches burned bright, lighting the splendid setting of Elves dressed in pure white robes gathering around the glowing Tannenbaum. Nicholas now had his own white robe, which he wore with honor since the day his mentor bestowed it upon him. After many years of establishing his place among this society, he had merited his own ceremonial robe. It wasn’t some piece of cloth. It was weaved in enchantment. It adapted the wearer to whatever climate they found themselves in, no matter how cold, and it was made to last for eons. Truly, it would take great effort to rip through the fabric or harm it by other means. And knowing the Elven tendency to preserve life, the fact that the robe felt like a fur coat with a thick furry trim brought many questions to his mind, however, the furtive methods of fabricating the garment were kept a mystery.

  Alaric, with more birettas embellishing his white robe, took his place high on a stone platform and waited for the choir to come to finish their merry carol. The song became a familiar Elvish hymn sung at this time of the year. The notes gave Nicholas chills and nostalgic memories of tender childhood moments. The music danced in the air and drew Nicholas toward a longing to be with his family—clasped in a warm hug, the time when he actually felt safe and content. The song chipped the ice on his heart away little by little and he feared that if it persisted, he would break down and cry.

  And when that moment was far too close, the music came to an end. The Elves recomposed themselves from enjoying the music to attend their chief, Alaric, who now waved his hands beckoning the Elven party. “Come, all ye folks; joyful, faithful, and triumphant,” he proclaimed warmly. “Sing and make merry, for our Yule gives occasion to give glory to the Highest. Citizens, I bid ye all a jubilant celebration! If anywhere in the world there would be glad tidings of joy and peace, here it shall be!”

  The Elves burst in a chorus, many playing instruments and ringing bells, and others danced gaily about the tree. Nicholas joined the crowd with a heavy, yet pleasant, demeanor holding a goblet of Wassail Punch. With the cheering mob, he opened wide and consumed a hefty draught. Among the Elves nearest him were Verean, a tall slender female with a peaceful gaze, who had become Nicholas’s neighbor. Ty’Avel, a well built, strong male, pounded his punch in one gulp and sighed with great pleasure. He was one of the few Elves Nicholas had caught practicing swordplay. He knew him to be a great warrior, but Ty’Avel denied it regularly. Nicholas hoped at some point this brawny Elf would someday teach Nicholas techniques Lysander could never get through to him.

  “Wassail, Nicholas!” cried Azanu, a younger, smaller female elf, one who worked with Nicholas on preparing crafts for the Yule and it had become tradition for the two to work with each other and encourage the other’s handiwork. Nicholas returned the cheerful salutation by raising his goblet and taking another swig. Then fireworks burst overhead, illuminating the night sky and the treetops. From the fire above the Tannenbaum treetop star gleamed, brilliantly reflecting the glow. It was moments like this that Nicholas was truly convinced not to leave.

  “Still seeking meaning in all this?” Kenalfon asked, having come up from behind without Nicholas noticing.

  “Maybe one day the joy shall reach my core, yet five Yules hence and I believe there ought to be more,” Nicholas said. He wanted more out of it. He wanted to rest assured that this joy would dissolve the turmoil around the world and wicked deeds would become undone—he was just still so lost for procedure. “Though it is hard to show, I revel in this occasion, I truly do. It means more to me than ye know.”

  “Then sing along, Nicholas! Sing!” Kenalfon said merrily. “Listen to the bells as they ring, the message they declare, the folk here sing as one voice in the night. We hope the world will understand that their every dream is possible!” Kenalfon joined a dancing circle, dragging Nicholas along, and reconnecting the chain. He danced with the singing group, accustomed to the steps, and tried his best to enjoy it.

  And as the song and the dance pricked his heart with joy, a horn blew discord into the atmosphere. The musicians ceased and the choir stifled. This was no instrument of merriment. It was a warning of terror. Never had Nicholas heard it, but he had eavesdropped tales that when their borders were compromised, the alarm horn would blow. Everyone paused in silent confusion and dread, waiting for something to happen that would clue them as to what was occurring.

  Th
e wait was unbearable and silent. It was several quiet fretting minutes until a woodsy-attired male Elf rushed into the scene, slid to a stop, and caught his breath. His leg was bleeding and he fell upon his other knee and Azanu rushed to his aid. Alaric stepped forth and said, “Speak. What was the meaning for sounding the alarm?”

  “My lord,” he heaved. “I pray forgiveness to bring ill tidings, yet Krampus have overrun us and are on my heels!” Nicholas was dumb to the word spoken but could sense the horror that struck all around him. Why was he withheld from knowing about this word? What were “Krampus”? He looked about and saw terror seize everyone around him.

  “Krampus…” Alaric uttered in hushed grief. “Not this night.” He turned and addressed the gathering. “Prepare! Be swift! If this word be true, we have little to no time! To arms!” With that dreadful decree, all at once the center of mirth was transformed to a bastion ready for battle.

  3

  Saints before the altar bending,

  Watching long in hope and fear.

  Kenalfon strapped armor gauntlets to his wrists and then packed his quiver with as many arrows it could hold. Nicholas removed the ceremonial robe, sheathed a dagger and pulled his quiver-belt over his chest. Kenalfon took notice of Nicholas’s change of attire and turned to tell him, “I would keep the robe on, lad.”

  “It seems a vestment unfit for warfare,” Nicholas replied.

  “It is our most cherished vestment, indeed, and because of that we pour out such labor to enchant it with extreme durability. It only makes sense that we compose our apparel for the festival to withstand our sole threat that conflicts against our Yule.”

  “Very well,” Nicholas replied in a huff and then began to exchange his gear. He returned the hooded white robe over himself and then armed his body over the robe. “You have kept me in the dark regarding this threat, Kenalfon.”

  “They are an evil I would rather never speak of. It was they who robbed me of my beloved wife many winters ago,” Kenalfon sighed with a hesitant soft whimper. “Krampus are our complete opposite, as demons are to angels. They were wrought in the subtle guile of other demons and corrupted by the sins of men. They long to see the fall of Alfheim and the world burn in a dark furnace. Their greatest pleasure is in the torment of an innocent child. You see that these words are a chest sunken deep in the ocean of my heart that I would prefer never open.”

  The two returned to the crowd gathered in the plaza near the Tannenbaum and arrived during the middle of another scout’s report. He too was winded, wounded, his clothes torn (he wasn’t wearing the white robe) and he leaned upon another Elf who steadied him. “Our garrison was in the heat of it when my master ordered I rush to you, my lord Alaric. It shouldn’t be long until they march upon our doorsteps!”

  Then another, a lady Elf holding her youngling at her armored husband’s side began to scream a blood curdling shriek, “Krampus!” And like the tide coming in an hour earlier than you had expected, a swarthy wave crashed through the trees, smashed through holiday decorations, and moved to flood the plaza. A swarm of demonic dark foul beasts in damp fur clothes wielding barbed chain-whips and razor-edge daggers stormed in, ferociously attacking the assembly. Those closest to the holes between the trees fell slain instantly without warning. The other Elves snapped into gallant combat.

  Verean, releasing arrows faster than Nicholas could count, filled one monster like a pincushion with arrows before it fell. Ty’Avel, with an intricate crystal sword, fought valiantly against the horde, knocking foes back with single slashes and thrusting his tip through many a foul beast. Nicholas was determined not to behave as he had in his last battle as part of the Roman legion, but his natural instincts bade him to do so. After being dumbstruck and overwhelmed by the chaos and carnage surrounding him, he instantly recognized what had become his home was now on the brink of obliteration, and those whom he called his kith were fighting to stay alive. Nicholas readied his blade and plunged into the battle.

  Having exercised so often with beings of stealth and speed, he had gained a technique of swiftness and focus, but his skills with a blade still had much to be desired. He slashed at a Krampus who easily fended off his advancements until the two locked their blades together. Nicholas finally got a close look at the monstrosity, now inches from his nose. It had bony extrusions at various parts of its dark and greasy skin. Its teeth were crooked and jagged, the eyes were yellow and bloodshot, it had a little tuft of black hair in the back behind two bent and cracked horns jutting from it’s skull, and it drooled like a hound. The hide had patches of matted dark fur and leathery skin. The beast heaved at Nicholas granting him a putrid whiff of the monster’s nauseating breath. Nicholas pulled away and an arrow unexpectedly struck through the beast’s throat.

  Kenalfon had taken the shot, perched high on the platform Alaric had given his speech from, and was taking out enemies with precision, covering his company who fought hand to hand. Next, there was another shriek from down the road that could clearly be heard over the tumult. Kenalfon developed an instant lump in his throat as he considered that was the direction of the nursery; a thick tree where armed mothers held guard over their younglings. He looked around, figured he was the only one conscious of the danger, and hopped down from the podium.

  A Krampus rushed at Nicholas swinging a thick, heavy chain at him, but Nicholas narrowly dodged and parried the striking blows. He ran and collided with another Krampus and wrestled it until he was struck back. Nicholas then sidestepped its lunge and was able to thrust his sword into its side and when he withdrew it, the creature fell dead. He examined that the blood dripping from his sword was so dark red it could be mistaken for pitch black. The chain-swinging Krampus took opportunity of Nicholas surveying the blood and whipped his chain to lash the sword from Nicholas’s fingers. Nicholas’s hand throbbed and his fingers shocked searing pain up his arm. The Krampus attempted to strike with his dagger, but was thwarted by Kenalfon.

  Without delay, he beheaded the monster and turned to Nicholas, “You may stand there like a stump or grab your sword!” Kenalfon cried out to him. Then he turned to race for the nursery when his way was blocked by an Elf falling slain by three Krampus wielding spears and wooden clubs. Kenalfon took up fighting the three at once and while masterfully blocking the savage creature’s attacks, he shouted back to Nicholas, who was retrieving his sword with a shaking hand. “Nicholas! Get to the nursery! I fear the younglings are in peril!”

  Nicholas, without giving much thought to the deed, instinctively felt surged energy and passion through the whole of his body at the thought of younglings in danger. He darted away and several Krampus chased after him. He raced by Tomte and Nisse who had joined back to back, firing arrows to cover each other from being ambushed. As he ran down the alley he caught sight of many Elves defeating Krampus foes and at the same time many Elves falling, slashed, choked, and whipped by the foul beasts. It wasn’t for a while until he noticed that as he ran a swarm of Krampus formed behind him, chasing him.

  Nicholas dashed toward a stairway and having rounded a corner he found Hugin, Munin, Boyce, and others in a cluster aiming their arrows at Nicholas, which bewildered him for a brief moment. Then Hugin shouted at him, “Nicholas! Drop down!”

  Nicholas then instantly conceived the tactic and fell prostrate just as they let a barrage of arrows fly and struck back the pursuing force behind him. Like waves crashing into rocks, the force of the Krampus broke apart upon the onslaught of arrows. The Elves drew swords and spears and rushed in to ensure the Krampus fell dead. Then Nicholas heard screams and looked up at a higher level in the trees where a great cluster of Elves fought a brewing horde of Krampus. Nicholas and Hugin locked eyes and nodded to each other just before Nicholas took off to the nursery and Hugin fended off the invaders.

  Nicholas rushed up a staircase, made of rope and wood, and halfway up his foot was caught by something tripping him. He fell and slid down a couple stairs to find a Krampus pulling at him, having jumped up f
rom the ground and was now hanging by Nicholas’s leg. Nicholas slammed his boot into the creature’s arm, then the hand, and finally a strong kick in the face dislodged its grip. But the Krampus wasn’t going to fall easily. As it tried to catch its grip on the ropes, its sharp nails and bones snagged and tore the suspending cables and the stairs fell apart altogether, leaving Nicholas dangling with the remnant.

  Nicholas climbed the ropes promptly as the Krampus had fallen to the ground and was trying to leap high enough to grab Nicholas again, but Nicholas scaled the rope quickly and kept just out of jumping reach. He made his way to the wooden road and ran along it. As the nursery came into view, he formulated a plan. He came to a point, just far enough from the brawl to be noticed, where he sliced a rope and then swung out among the limbs of the trees and planted himself upon a bough toward the rear of the nursery within the forest outskirts of Mid Alfheim. He then swung over to another branch and, using his sword, smashed a hole through a window.

  When he looked in, he found nearly thirty tots clinging to each other in fear listening to the brawl just outside the barricaded front door. “Come along! Hurry!” he told them. The Elven children rushed toward him and he pulled them through the window and set them in the tree boughs. “Follow me,” he instructed and the fearful little ones complied and climbed through the tree toward another hut where Nicholas hid them. After instructing them to keep absolutely silent, he told them to only reply to an Elf or himself should anyone come for them. He returned to the branch behind the nursery and climbed in, made his way toward the barricaded window, and spoke through a gap to Munin who fought alongside other skillful mothers.

  “Munin!” She didn’t hear him with the roar of combat filling her pointed ears. “Munin!”