Nicholas- the Fantastic Origin of Santa Claus

by Cody W Urban

  Her ears perked up and she turned, startled, to hear a man’s voice coming from the domain of the younglings. “Who is that? Nicholas?”

  “Yes. I have hidden the children in yonder hut!”

  “Why?”

  “So that should the enemy prevail, they would not find that which they seek!”

  “Halt! That smell!” a gravelly voice remarked.

  “Aye! ‘Tis here!” another chimed in with a hiss.

  “Munin? What is happening?”

  Before he could utter another word Munin’s body crashed through the timber walls and landed unconscious inside the nursery. Shortly after, a great surge of Krampus tried to fill the new hole that they clogged themselves. The ravenous bunch seemed perfectly keen on slaughtering Nicholas with greater interest than any other objective for reasons Nicholas could not fathom.

  He lifted Munin’s body and found her still breathing. He slung her over his shoulder, crawled through the window and took hold of the rope he previously used. Just when the gnashing and clawing Krampus forced the entire wall to collapse and they flooded the nursery, Nicholas jumped from the bough and swung out into the forest, back to the other tree, and then back to the alley. He popped into a house, laid Munin down upon a mattress, and exited as quickly as he entered. Just as he expected, down the road the gang of Krampus were advancing upon him, slowing themselves down by toppling each other in their mad race for their target.

  He turned and as he ran in full sprint, a Krampus appeared to his side and whipped him, casting him through a wooden door into another hut. He bounced on the floor and rolled up onto his knees to hold his arm, bruised and sore, and exhaustion came like a herald with foul news. A Krampus snatched his legs and pulled Nicholas out to him. Just as the monster was about to land a thick club into Nicholas’s skull, nearly impaling him, Nicholas pulled his sword from under his thigh and stabbed the beast through.

  He kicked the Krampus out through the open doorway and Nicholas scrambled to barricade it with a bed, a cabinet, and anything he could find. To his great fortune, he found another rope in this hut, so, thinking swiftly, he tethered an end to an arrow and opened the rear window. He found a tree close enough to execute his strategy and shot his arrow, with the rope streaming behind it, into the trunk. Then he leapt from the window and when the slack ended, he swung as far as the arrow’s integrity could hold, which wasn’t as long as Nicholas hoped for. The arrow, having not seated itself deep enough into the trunk, gave way to the weight and Nicholas fell down a drop that was short enough to preserve his bones, but far enough to knock the wind out of him.

  Then he looked and found he still wasn’t on the ground, but on one of the lowest branch causeways of the town. He only had a brief moment to nurse his sore shins as the angry Krampus were making their way for him once more. Despite his need for respite, Nicholas ran along the planks with more beasts approaching on his heels. He now arrived to where Tomte and Nisse were still fighting, only just below him, and they discovered the pursuit behind Nicholas. They then started to launch arrows at the chasing Krampus crowd.

  “Why do they follow you so?” Nisse called out to Nicholas.

  “I cannot tell!” Nicholas replied, too short of breath to explain that he feared the Krampus may have sought more after man than Elf and possibly that was why he was singled out. Nicholas continued to run and the path flowed upward, higher into the tree city and en route toward the plaza. The path led him into a curve that came just over some of the far-reaching boughs of the Tannenbaum and there he came to a place where he found he was cut off by another approaching mass of Krampus. With his blade in hand, he mustered his second-wind, and was left with no option but to sword-fight the Krampus. Focusing his greatest efforts upon the first beast that reached him was to little avail. The forthcoming Krampus who pursued him were quick to arrive and Nicholas was short of options as he wildly waved his blade about, hoping if only to deflect the bloodthirsty brutes.

  He was living in a society built into the trees, and where trunk and branch couldn’t grow the way the Elves designed, ropes were used in plenty. So Nicholas dove out, casting off the high planks, and snatching a cord he swung away. Another Krampus did likewise and as Nicholas swung back, he sliced the cord and the Krampus fell heavily into the Tannenbaum, knocking the candles about and lighting the tree ablaze. The streamers and banners were tinder and there were enough flammable materials among the many candles that the fire rapidly swelled to encompass the entire tree.

  Nicholas climbed down to the ground and the Krampus dove down after him. Before he knew it, the swarthy bunch of crooked monsters lit by the burning Tannenbaum surrounded him. Nicholas stepped back, amazed and terrified, unsure why he was so coveted by this rabble and certainly not sure what hope he had left.

  “Nicholas! The coal!” Tomte shouted from a distance, racing toward the scene among other Elves who let their arrows fly. “Did ye bring that hither?”

  Nicholas touched his pocket and then removed the black rock. “This?”

  “It draws them! They crave it!” Tomte replied.

  Nicholas watched as one Krampus, the closest to him, followed the coal each way Nicholas moved it. And when he tossed it toward the burning tree, the wicked thing leapt for it, clasped it and then fumbled it in its fingers until it tripped into the roaring blaze. Others followed until the heat of the flames rebuked them back. Nicholas took this moment to run from the encompassing gang and fled among a crowd of Elves who were receiving mistletoe from Alaric, Azanu, and other Elves.

  Then he saw a terrible sight as the tower of the Tannenbaum collapsed and crumbled into a bonfire, spraying embers, sparks, and smoke all about. Never before realizing the attachment he had grown toward the symbol, his rage swelled toward the destruction. He didn’t allow the slightest notion that he was responsible, so with full blame for the invading mob, he attacked in a heat of wrath. Nicholas ran and kicked a Krampus into the flames, but was then attacked by the others, his sword knocked from his hands, and he was struck to the ground by a chain whip. He fell, winded, his head gashed, and was sure his life was in jeopardy.

  He remained in the abysmal state of despair only for a second until his mentor and friend Kenalfon dove in valiantly, and swung his blades with acrobatic moves like a ballet dancer. He dropped one Krampus slain and shortly after, another. He was truly a master at this combat, for to him, it was an art. An art Kenalfon withheld from his tutelage to ensure Nicholas’s mind didn’t stray toward violence as he wanted to instill peace within him. Kenalfon finished a third foe and stood tall, the proud savior, the benevolent hero, the admired model of wisdom, compassion, and fortitude. He had saved Nicholas again and just as he turned to help Nicholas to his feet, he was then stabbed through. Truly, the robes were made as durable as the toughest chain mail, but even with enough force, a sharp blade could pierce it, and it pierced Kenalfon as well.

  Nicholas rose in a fright, his adrenaline pumping hard, his rage fueling an inner fire that drove his hand to grab the horns of the beast that had just felled the greatest Elf that ever lived. Nicholas grappled both horns and then with all his might thrust one arm forward and yanked his other back. When he heard the crunch and snap, when he felt the fiend fall limp, he knew he had just broken the vile thing’s neck. Now, he wanted to know who was next in line until a chain-whip grappled him, wrenched him away and before he knew it, a Krampus endeavored to choke him to death with the chain. As his throat collapsed, he watched another Krampus go to stab Kenalfon again to land the fatal blow.

  Nicholas felt for his strangler’s waist and then drew its dagger and plunged it through the monster’s eye. He withdrew it and before even gasping for air, he threw it into the neck of Kenalfon’s killer. As the creature fell dead, Nicholas heaved a needed breath and looked about seeing a small number of Krampus join other retreating ranks. Beside the glow of the blazing Tannenbaum and the smoldering decorations, Nicholas crawled over the sward and dead leaves beside Kenalfon, who struggled to breat
he. “I thought you were immortal!” Nicholas cried out and clutched Kenalfon into his lap.

  “Aye,” Kenalfon gasped.

  “You cannot die!”

  “Now this body will pass and my spirit shall dwell in light,” he struggled to say. Kenalfon was overwhelmed by the pain for he had never endured half this much. He was such a phenomenal master and despite his many battles, he had rarely received more than scratches.

  “No. I can help you. You cannot leave me, my friend,” Nicholas assured him, scrambling for a sack of curative herbs at his hip. But Kenalfon’s hand clasped his and stayed him.

  “That would not be of aid now. My body is far too gone,” the silver-haired Elf said, composing a smile as blood began to drip down his cheek.

  “You never said these herbs had such limits! At least we must try!” Nicholas persisted.

  “Nicholas, listen,” he said, conjuring every bit of strength to say what he needed. “Whether you beckon or rebuke your chosen path, destiny will find you.” Then his eyes began to wander, his lips moved without words, and Nicholas shook him from his stupor.

  “Kenalfon! No!” The gathering of Elves filled all around them while others rushed to douse the flaming Tannenbaum or tend to the infirmities of others.

  Kenalfon’s eyes continued to move around as though he was in a trance and whispered, “The rising of the stars and running of deer. Holly and ivy, white flakes of falling snow; your future it shall be.” Then finally, he seemed to gather his senses just in time to say, “Do not fight the river of destiny you ride on, for you shall bring about your ruin. Go along with the current of future and own it. Determine your heart’s desire, Nicholas, and... set to it.”

  The bright guiding lamp that was Kenalfon became but a wisp of smoke as his body turned limp in Nicholas's arms. Nicholas tightened every muscle, clenched his teeth, balled a shaking fist, and fought a deep searing pain from making him scream at the heavens above. While he considered his faith, he felt his knowledge of God only made him angrier. He was betrayed by everyone he loved or they were stolen from him. Was there anything left in this world worth living for? Would all good things always be stolen from him? Nicholas put these thoughts out of mind and simply sobbed upon the chest of his mentor and friend.

  He heard Alaric sigh as he walked up beside Nicholas. “Alas for Kenalfon and the victorious fallen Elves. Alas, that such a night would ever happen. The Initiator has his plans and upon our backs are borne such massive burdens and misery.” He stopped speaking softly to himself and then addressed the Elves who gave up trying to save their beloved tree and those aiding others paused to attend to Alaric’s words. “Betimes we must amend this state of affairs. Bury the dead as is fitting. Mend those who need mending. Then make ready to depart. We shall vacate this land in two days, you have two nights to grieve and pack. Mid Alfheim has fallen—we shall start our society afresh elsewhere. Thus I have spoken.”

  Nicholas stood, his robe soaked red from Kenalfon’s wounds, overwhelmed by the chaos and discovery of the demonic Krampus, overcome by grief, afraid to leave the land he now called home. “Vacate? To where shall we go?”

  Alaric had his back to Nicholas and sighed. Then turning to address him with heavy words he said, “I hoped ye would not have to ask, Nicholas, though ye feebly do not see. You shall not be joining us. You understand?”

  “I do not understand,” Nicholas replied, shaken.

  Alaric sighed again, his face reddening, and tried to compose himself. “Nicholas. You, and you alone, brought on this onslaught,” Alaric said. The floodgates of his annoyance and resentment were opening with every word he spoke. “You not only carried the black coal into our borders, you also bore a darkened heart full of grief, rage, and bitterness. Both of which draw the foul Krampus nigh! They seek such as treasure, they covet it, and you placed a beacon for it at the center of our home, on the Night of Nights!”

  Alaric turned and beheld the fallen smoldering Tannenbaum and fought his eyes from watering. “This is the work of man,” he uttered. Nicholas glanced over to Tomte who turned his head from seeing Nicholas's eyes. The other Elves gazed at Nicholas with judging expressions. Nicholas was dumbfounded and now pierced through with guilt. Still gazing upon the aftermath of conflict, Alaric continued, “You and your kin have wrought much bloodshed, hatred, fear, and sorrow into a world that before long ago was ordained a land of peace and unity.”

  “And what of you?” Nicholas asked, mustering the gumption to speak his mind. After years under the tutelage of Kenalfon, he felt he couldn’t raise his voice on these matters. Kenalfon surely even agreed with Nicholas on what he had to say, though kept his tongue in propriety. Now, Nicholas had nothing to lose and a plethora of emotions to discharge. “Are you so noble that you abandon your task? That you would strive so long and earnestly to make crafts only to be set forth into an inferno? Give the gifts to man! Give unto us a chance to change, for you believe God counted us worthy to send angels to watch over us, should you not seek the little good left in men and expand it?”

  “And that good you represent?” Alaric snapped back. “I sense only in your heart a thirst for a darkness I dare not consider. Nay, you are a fool, Nicholas of Myra. There is no good left to be found, alas, where once there was. You believe in your race, have them. We take our leave of your presence to preserve what little purity we have left.”

  When Alaric says such words in quite as indignant of a tone and follows it by turning his back on you to march away, he clearly has spoken his last word on the matter. Those were the last words Nicholas would have ruminating in his mind for the next two days before his companions would depart and he would find himself completely and utterly alone.

  Chapter Five

  Winter Wonderland

  Gone away is the blue bird,

  Here to stay is the new bird.

  Having spent so many years apart from any other human being had been a strange testament to Nicholas’s desire for human company. He never once, during his stay in paradise, noticed his heart aching to be with fellow man. Now that his expulsion from the Elven world was imminent, he actually found a sense of excitement to see them again. Humanitarianism has always been integral in his religious lifestyle. He recalled back a time shortly after he had met Nysa when his uncle worked to instill charity into Nicholas’s personality. It was on a day when their debates regarding a young man’s relationship with a woman had started to become frequent. Back in Patara, wearing a monk’s robe and his hair cut in the tonsured style, he and Nysa chatted together in their monastery and Nicholas tried to encourage Nysa to remain strong and not lose hope in spite of the loss of her belligerent father.

  “I think you are stronger within than you give yourself credit,” the younger Nicholas explained to the teenage Nysa. She was lamenting her weak will and how feeble her resolve was to persevere. “Dare not let the past determine your future; save only yourself and the Almighty. You always have the ability to choose a new path.”

  This was the sagely wisdom Nicholas had once given during a time when his innermost voice was his closest ally, before he had given up on that lifestyle. Had Nysa’s father not passed away and Nicholas had to watch the nuns look after her in her poverty, he may have never left his uncle. Nysa never wanted Nicholas to lose this way about him, however, she also wanted his affection and was willing to let him sacrifice it for him to be able to be with her. “I think you see far more in me than there is to see,” she replied bashfully. “Dare not anyone of Lycia, let alone Patara, consider a lowly peasant girl worthy of much.”

  “What say an orphaned boy as I? As if I were worth much myself other than one so enchanted by you,” Nicholas said warmly. “For what is the value of gold but a hunk of shiny rock lest someone perceive it as precious?” he spoke to her while reaching bravely to grab her hand.

  They stared longingly into each other’s eyes, not sure how to read the other, anxious, loving, and naïve. It’s not clear if Nicholas could have gathered the courage to
plant a kiss on her then, but as Uncle Nicholas found a noisy way to make his presence known to the couple by bellowing a thunderstorm to clear his throat, their romance quickly subsided like water down a drain unplugged unexpectedly.

  “I best take my leave, Nicholas,” Nysa told him, blushing with a flirtatious smile which melted Nicholas’s heart. She walked out of the monastery and Nicholas observed her with longing. He imagined, as young boys do, that she would promptly return and he could give her that kiss; longing that his uncle could provide him some privacy.

  “Nicholas, my boy, what role do you play in the life of that disadvantaged girl?” Uncle Nicholas asked setting down a crate of incense with a heavy thud.

  “As you have said, ‘disadvantaged,’ Uncle,” Nicholas explained, turning to face him with a convincing look of charitable trust. “I am counseling her. Her violent drunkard of a father has wreaked havoc in her life and she needs know that she is free to choose her path. God forbid that any save good-natured people offer guidance.”

  Uncle Nicholas rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder and peered right through him. “And is that all that you seek?” Nicholas looked at him annoyed and then looked away to hide any creeping emotions. “Come,” he told his nephew and whisked him out of the main sanctuary and into the rear courtyard.

  There, a few other clergymen passed bread and fruit to a weary line of starving ragged folks. The members of their parish worked diligently to ration out the food to a heavily taxed and impoverished crowd of believers and nonbelievers alike. Nicholas had only just been working with them earlier before Nysa had arrived to beg for a loaf. Nicholas relished in the labors to feed the hungry and support the poor for he felt he was making the world a better place. “I know it is a deep yearning within you to give to others in need,” Uncle Nicholas said kindly and with understanding. “Keep at work here. Let the nuns handle Nysa lest ye be caught in some temptation a priest ought not find.”