by Cody W Urban
She clutched the ledge with one hand, but quickly lost grasp, and started to fall to fate until a mysterious strong arm snatched her wrist and lugged her up to safety. The young Nicholas pulled her to sit beside him, both out of breath, and Nysa sobbed. She planted her face, without thinking, overwhelmed with emotion, in his chest, crying. The moment she saw the dazzling pure white feather it was as if heaven opened a thought in her head that there truly was good somewhere, she just needed to find it. Certainly, it found her in the form of this young man who rescued her from out of nowhere.
“There, there,” Nicholas said soothing her. He wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed clear that this girl, from his view below moments before, was ready to jump from this rooftop. When he came to speak to her, she was hanging there, trying to survive. He was without a clue, but was sure to try to calm and comfort her. “It will all turn out fine. Had a bad slip, ye did? What were you doing on a brink so high?”
“I... was gazing at the view, but lost my footing.”
Her voice was so tender, so sweet. He knew she was fabricating a story, and he didn’t judge her for it. She was safe now, and he felt it was Providence that he was there to save her. Now it was his divinely appointed duty to keep her safe and secure.
“You may tell me whatever it is you wish to tell me. Just mind this, that you now have a second chance.”
4
We’ll face unafraid,
The plans that we’ve made.
Nicholas had been pondering that event when he first met Nysa, considering the type of person he was at the time. He was so full of positive naïve hope and wanted nothing more but to fill others with it. When he finally, after a two days’ hike up the river bank, found Juno poking her head under a bush and then searched it to discover the raft Tomte told him of, he began to see life was guiding him toward a second chance. The raft was more of a wide boat that looked to be made of leaves, though it felt hard as wood, and it was even able to fit the reindeer as well—though this took a great deal of coaxing to do. When Nicholas would leave the reindeer on the shore and was ready to cast off, it looked at him like an orphan abandoned by a parent. He had made a partner out of this beast, so while it took some work to calm him, the reindeer finally obliged and crouched down on the boat.
The trio loaded it up. Nicholas pushed them from the shore with the only oar they had and they all drifted down the stream toward a destination of unknown possibilities. After another few days—Nicholas was losing count having enjoyed the relaxing ride and some much needed naps—the river started to turn to rapids. He did all he could to row away from one rock in the middle of the stream successfully, but colliding with the next was inevitable. The boat capsized and the three had to swim to the shore. The reindeer pressed his head into Nicholas’s back and carried him to the point where he could step on the riverbed and he was able to walk the rest of the way while holding the reindeer to steady each other from the frightening turn of events.
It was a terrible annoyance to be ice cold and wet in the winter air, though it was fortuitous that it was the sunniest day they had in a week. Now Nicholas lamented ever going upstream, ever listening to Tomte at all. Then he looked at the reindeer and remembered his manners and patted the creature to thank it for helping him fight the current and it abruptly occurred to him that this creature was pretty powerful and about horse-sized. Well, of course! He wasn’t obligated to walk any further when he had a beast of burden in his midst.
After this notion, he hopped onto the reindeer’s back and it supported him easily—for a second. Once the reindeer realized what had befallen him, he bucked and moved wildly until Nicholas flew from it and seemed to land on the only rocky surface not blanketed with powdery snow. It took him at least an hour of trying to reason with the animal until the reindeer seemed to acquiesce to Nicholas’s wishes. Though the two had managed some understanding like he had with Juno, it was still a skittish animal not used to human company. But after he worked with it for a while, Nicholas was mounted sturdily upon his new steed and the two rode off into the forest with Juno running along beside them. They traveled swiftly along the riverbank until such a path wasn’t suitable for riding. Then, using the antlers as reigns, the reindeer carried him where Nicholas guided. They traveled away from the riverbank, up the steep hillside, and over the top to a place where they could see the ocean shore in the distance.
The three companions continued to ride through the forest landscape up and down the hills. He made camp that night and then rose early the next morning with an unexpected energy. He rode the reindeer, keeping the pace slow for knowing they had ridden hard the day before. They were high on a hillside when Nicholas heard something unexpected. He halted the reindeer and paused, straining his ears to hear that sound again. A moment passed with nothing to be heard, and just when he was about to move on, he heard it again. It was laughter!
Nicholas cantered along and dismounted from his reindeer. He rushed to a boulder and peered over to look toward the source. It was unlike Elven laughter and he was sure it was men. Not sure what to find or who they would be, only eager to see kindred spirits, he looked all about until he saw movement in the distance, down along the coast, where he saw a handful of people moving about. They were within a league’s distance away and he was happier than he estimated he would be to lay his eyes upon fellow humans. The joy dropped abruptly when his eyes noticed why one figure stood rigidly still. It didn’t occur to him that one person holding still and standing erect should mean much of anything, until he saw the rope noosed around his neck and tied to the bough overhead. And as he looked harder, he could only figure this person was either very short, or only a young boy. And Nicholas happened upon his execution.
Chapter Six
God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen
Upon this blessed morn…
Did nothing take in scorn.
Snow fell softly on a band of ten boisterous Scandinavians, marching a ragged tall African boy, whom they called Zwarte Piet, toward a tall tree bearing a rope and noose with an upright log placed below it. The forty year-old Snorre, a gruff stocky bearded man walked beside him clutching a battle-axe. Intricate runes brandished in the blade gleamed in the cerulean morning light.
Ranveig, an attractive tall blonde woman donning furs, armored shoulders, and pleated skirt over stockings, held a sword in one hand and Zwarte Piet’s bound hands in the other. She released the boy and gave him a shove toward the stump, tripping him to fall into the snow. “Sorry, Pete,” she said to him almost sarcastically. “Nice knowing you.”
“Save it, lass,” Snorre barked. He twirled his axe head down into some slush and rested upon the hilt while sneering into the boy’s eyes just as he rose to his feet. “For a thrall deserves no apology. Not one guilty of what ye done!” Snorre kicked Zwarte Piet in the shin and the youth nearly toppled down again. He shivered in what little ragged clothing he wore, and remained silent.
“Let us not be over-cruel, Snorre,” Hákon said strolling up. He was one tall, mean looking Nordic sailor, yet ruggedly handsome under his thick red beard. He stopped and stood before their prisoner and rested his hands on his large battle-axe and addressed another of his companions who had slinked around the group and timidly pulled down a noose over a thick bough. This was Tryggr, a thinner and more groomed seafarer, who detested this execution. He was under orders and it was uncommon for Hákon to be disobeyed, ever.
“Zwarte Piet,” Hákon austerely addressed the lad, as Tryggr widened the end of the noose and stepped right behind the stump. “Our thrall and chef, you are charged for attempted murder by poison. An act punishable by death even for free-folk. With a heavy heart, I execute ye-”
Water filled the boy’s eyes and he spoke timorously, “I ask ye, my captain Hákon-“
“You get no plea, you wretch!” Hákon growled. Turning to the crew and then barked, “Noose his neck!”
Snorre and Ranveig lifted Zwarte Piet to his feet and draped the noose over his head. Sno
rre pushed him to step up onto the log and he nearly lost his footing. “Easy, Pete,” Tryggr said to steady the lad. Snorre flashed an accusing eye Tryggr’s way, but Tryggr kept from meeting his gaze.
Pete took a deep breath, made a silent prayer, and subsequently stood tall and erect upon the log. He stared at his captain and comrades crossly, showing no sign of fear. It wasn’t in his heart to give them satisfaction of seeing him plead for mercy. He had tried and shed his tear, but now he was ready to be brave and show them how tough he was, even though he was doomed this very minute.
Little did he know that Nicholas was watching the event. Nicholas turned away, disturbed to see such a young boy face the gallows. He wasn’t part of this and he didn’t know what had led these folks to think execution was the right course of action, but that didn’t matter to Nicholas. To see a child in need lit a flame in him that was nigh impossible to extinguish.
“Let it be done!” Hákon ordered strictly.
Snorre grunted with pleasure when he swung his mighty axe into the stump, knocking it swiftly from Pete’s feet, and he dropped with a snap. To their surprise, his neck didn’t break. The boy’s frail physique was too light to cause enough instant stress on his vertebrae.
Snorre watched in vengeful glee. Ranveig and Tryggr turned away in disgust. Other Norsemen around cheered and hollered seconds from placing wagers on how long it would take before the lad finally choked to lifelessness. Pete struggled, but not for long. To everyone’s astonishment an arrow from nowhere shot through the rope and inches from Snorre’s nose. The rope snapped and the youth toppled down into the snow gasping for air.
The Scandinavians looked around angrily to find the perpetrator until they spied him on a high cliff in the distance as the sun rose behind him; Nicholas mounted on his reindeer with a white wolf beside him. The sun silhouetted him majestically and reaching into their theologies, Hákon thought he beheld a Norse deity. “Slay me. We behold Odin, Lord and Judge, who has vindicated the thrall!” Several began to bow reverently.
“’Tis but a miracle!” Tryggr exclaimed and then moved to untie the boy’s hands. Just as his fingers touched the lash, Pete’s hands were snatched away by Snorre.
“We shall examine this miracle before this runt is absolved!” Snorre barked and began to strut toward the mountain Nicholas stood on. “If it be Odin indeed, let us go worship at hand, lest we be swindled by a stranger.”
Nicholas steered his reindeer to trot down the hillside on a natural trail and he whistled for Juno to follow. He knew he had just gotten himself involved in something unfinished. He may have only delayed inevitability, and he didn’t care. That child-safeguarding flame burned bright within.
When he reached the base of the trail he found his way blocked by the hairy strangers; the prominent one he presumed to be their chief was on horseback. All, save for the lone female amongst them, donned thick beards. For the first time in years Nicholas hadn’t shaved in over a week and finally grew facial hair, which itched his face something mean, and still in comparison to the beards before him, he felt like a shaved little boy. “Halt! Who goes there?” Hákon asked sternly, now sure this wasn’t Odin. The voices and language came as a shock to Nicholas, partially due to how he hadn’t heard another voice in over a week, let alone a human one, but that he understood their tongue stunned him. As Kenalfon had explained that learning the language of the Elves would mean learning in some way every language on Earth, with little effort he was able to discern the words spoken to him by the stranger. Hákon grew tired of the riding archer staring at him impolitely and asked again aggressively, “Speak, now. Who are you?”
“A simple traveler; Nicholas, son of Epiphineos,” Nicholas replied feigning friendliness. Then to his bewilderment, the gathering laughed in reply.
“You may not believe this, yet we mistook ye for Odin, riding his unique steed Sleipnir, out bearing gifts and passing judgment!” They laughed once more.
“Verily, I am not he,” Nicholas replied with a smile.
Hákon’s laughter quickly faded and then, in a snap, he unsheathed a long-sword and pointed the end at Nicholas. Juno instinctively bared her teeth and growled, which stayed the enemies presently. Hákon didn’t move forward, but kept his eyes locked with Nicholas, who did not show a shadow of fear.
“Then tell me,” Hákon asked, “what business have ye here? By sight of your bow, I presume ‘twas you who interrupted the execution of Zwarte Piet.”
“Aye, that was my doing,” Nicholas replied sternly. “I saw a grotesque murder of a young lad at hand. Any respectable fellow would do likewise.”
“Respectable?” Snorre huffed. “Have ye any idea what this rat…” Snorre began to snarl. He furiously stepping too close for Juno’s acceptance and she bit at him. Snorre stepped back, missing her teeth by an inch and stood beside Hákon, who placed his hand on Snorre’s head to stifle him.
“You are a Roman scout, I presume,” Hákon said.
“Nay!” Nicholas replied with repugnance. “Speak not such a slander again. I by no means am a Roman soldier, yet would gladly exact retribution on the whole of the Empire myself.”
This quirked Hákon’s eyebrow. “Then where do ye hail from?” he asked with a lighter tone.
“This shall sound a lie to your ears,” Nicholas said sincerely. “Yet I have dwelt the past five twelvemonths in the woodland realm of the Elves.” This resulted in a group gasp among those who stood in Nicholas’s way.
“Elves? Heard their lore, have I,” Hákon replied now stroking his beard. “Though none have beheld the hidden-folk, wrought in wisdom, adorned in light. And this, I presume, is how you have earned companionship of a wolf and so odd a steed? Or so intricate a garment?”
Turning shy to being examined, Nicholas replied, “Believe what you will.”
Hákon took a moment to think, still stroking his beard, and Zwarte Piet poked out from behind Snorre to say, “I thank you, kind stranger, for saving my life.” Snorre turned instantly furious and punched the boy to shut his mouth.
“Touch him not!” Nicholas demanded, irked by the abusive nature of this uncouth barbarian. “Lest you would try to lay a fist on me first.”
Just as Snorre turned, eager for the challenge, Hákon chimed in, “A dueling man, are ye?”
Nicholas stared at him a moment in contemplation. “Why?”
“We must settle this matter somehow,” Hákon replied openly. “What you did was a contradiction of justice. You wish that he live, thus you fight for him or be hanged in his stead.” Hákon said this with an unsettling amount of pleasance that Nicholas fully assumed these folks were far too accustomed to bloodshed in their culture.
“If I wanted him alive, what makes you think I’d kill you, sir? Is it not clear by my actions I seek to conserve life?”
“Humph! Preserve it, then,” Hákon laughed. “In point of fact, I had in mind a race! That is, if ye be up for the challenge!”
2
“Fear not then,” said the Angel,
“Let nothing you affright.”
It had become clear to Nicholas that when he worked the Elven remedies upon beasts that they would instantly take on tame characteristics and befriend him, as well as heal them and strengthen them to their fullest capacity, probably more than they had ever experienced in their lifetime. He reasoned this was why his reindeer was able to bear Nicholas and still run as swiftly as he could without a full-grown man on his back. The concept of a race against this armored six-foot tall thick boned northerner against him upon his enchanted deer made Nicholas feel rather confident.
“Ready, Sleipnir?” Nicholas asked, patting the neck of his newly named reindeer. He figured the irony of being confused for Odin was worth naming his steed after. Hákon trotted up alongside Nicholas on his horse, now only in a thick tunic to conserve weight, and cracked his neck looking Nicholas in the eye with poise.
Ranveig stepped a few yards ahead of them holding a hunk of driftwood. “These are the stakes: sho
uld the stranger best Hákon in this race; he is free and the thrall his. Should Hákon win, both Zwarte Piet and the stranger shall be executed. Understood?”
Nicholas, hoping to intimidate through audacity, rolled his eyes and replied, “Any longer? The sun has spent more than half his arc.”
Hákon laughed, developing a liking to his opponent, and then said, “Careful, Peacemaker, your cowardice is showing. Shall you forfeit now? My horse is swiftest of the North.”
“It is I whom you should fear, friend,” Nicholas replied. “It was Elven herbs fed to this beast and quite a gallop has he.”
“When this wood hits the sand, the race begins,” Ranveig announced. “Are ye ready?” On sight of both men nodding, her hand released the timber and the instant it touched the frozen sand, both riders launched forth upon their beasts. Nicholas and Hákon broke into speed, their animals digging into the sand, kicking up a cloud of dust, as the two dashed across the beach.
Nicholas truly was surprised when he found that he was neck and neck with his opponent. “Yah! Come along, boy!” Nicholas shouted, encouraging his mount to hasten as best as possible. But Hákon was right with him. They reached a tree and turned sharply around it, Hákon bumping Nicholas to turn wider and ride just behind him. Sleipnir proved to be far more nimble than Hákon’s horse, rounded the turn swiftly, and began to gain on Hákon. Now riding into frozen sward, not sand, Sleipnir gained greater traction and increased speed faster than the other steed.
They raced through the forest obstacles. Nicholas gained on Hákon with each step and was soon beside him, about to take the lead. The two dodged through trees, bushes, and low hanging limbs with incredible agility. Hákon accurately steered his mount through the obstacles, but grew intrigued to see Sleipnir quickly dart around the trees with tremendous dexterity. Their path took them on a descent into morass and Sleipnir leapt over most of it as Hákon slowed to trudge through.
