by Cody W Urban
He walked into what seemed utter darkness but for a tiny shaft of light from a high thin gap in the stones. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and when they gradually began to he saw a gray lump upon a pile of hay. He stepped toward it and just then the lump moved and he heard a woman’s voice moan. At first he paused, afraid from love-sickness, humbly feeling unworthy to reach out for this girl whom he never should have left. But he knew he shouldn’t blame himself, or at least by guilt linger in inaction. For at that moan his heart melted with grief at the state of her. His eyes opened a bit more and he could see her dirty small feet from under a burlap blanket and when her body form came into view, he knelt down and rested his hand on her shoulder.
She flinched from habitual fear that every time someone entered her cell it was either a demonic beast or worse, Vasilis himself hoping to have his way with her. “Nysa... I am here,” he said softly. She didn’t budge this time. She had often dreamed of Nicholas saying those very words to her and it was just another moment of torture for her to look and see him not there. She didn’t move.
Nicholas looked at her face and though she looked older and filthy, she was very much the same beautiful dove that he loved. A tear drifted from her shut eyelid and he heard the faint whisper of her voice say, “Nicholas…”
“Nicholas? Can we—” Lysander asked.
“Snorre, your axe!” Nicholas shouted back. Snorre instantly tossed his axe to him and after catching it, Nicholas struck a chain that held her shackled ankles down and Nicholas pulled her up into his arms. “Nysa! It’s me!”
“Nicholas?” she said in a stupor and when she slightly opened her eyes she saw a bearded man she didn’t recognize at first. But the way he held her, the sound of his voice, even his smell told her that it was the man she thought was dead and gone. Against her mental caution, she cast her cares to the wind and figured if this was some hallucination she would yield to it and enjoy another moment with her hero—dream or not. “Nicholas!”
“I told you I would come back,” he said softly. “I am just a bit late.” She laughed and sobbed all at once and kissed him warmly. After she moved her head back, Nicholas was almost weeping and chuckling all at once himself. “I am so sorry I failed you, my love.”
“You are really here?” she said and raised her hand and touched his cheek. It was ecstasy to feel her touch, the hand he had longed to hold for seven years he was no longer deprived of. “Oh, how I would rather an endless desert purgatory at your side than the hell I’ve lived without you. I had always known you would return. Whether as a ghost or by some miracle you would survive the death I was told you had, I knew it in my heart. I knew, deep within, you would some day yet return to me.”
“Nysa, I have returned,” Nicholas said with a tear rolling down his cheek and then he pressed his lips against hers and the world turned upside down and swirled about him. There is nothing like having a long held dream realized, and Nicholas had been the dream she clung to keep herself alive. Finally, in his arms, all of a sudden every bit of strife she had melted away and she figured all her grief worth it to finally kiss him once more. The couple pressed their lips together again, tears streaming down their faces and emotions that soared higher than mountains rushed through them in such a way that they were teenagers again, lost in their passionate love for one another, but now so much deeper than ever before. They were in another world now, their spirits locked together for life, never to be separated again.
Vasilis on the other hand watched everything he had worked for, and killed for, washed down a stream never to be reclaimed—and he wasn’t ready to deal with such a crushing defeat. The one he ordered to have killed returned to haunt him to his demise and without much logical thought, all he craved was to see that man finally dead. Taking advantage of how the host around him was preoccupied in the sentimental moment between Nysa and Nicholas, he snatched the sword from Hákon’s hand and charged into the cell.
“Nicholas!” Nysa shouted at sight of Vasilis. He charged at Nicholas’s back, about to ram the tip of his blade into his spine, when Lysander swung his sword and deflected it. Nicholas hopped up to his feet and punched Vasilis before he could recover. Though he had everything he ever wanted back, he was enraged at the pain Vasilis caused Nysa and he could do little to control himself. He punched Vasilis repeatedly, pushing him back, rearing to a parapet. Upon reaching it, Vasilis nearly lost his footing over the ledge, but steadied himself and stared at Nicholas while holding his bleeding broken nose.
Nicholas hesitated a moment, choosing if it was worth it to continue bashing his knuckles into this monster’s skull further, and then laid in one more slam, which knocked Vasilis over. He fell a few stories down and into the coal mound. Vasilis slid down, coating himself in the coal dust, until he finally stopped. He was thoroughly bloody and beaten, but he struggled to stand. Up through the pile of coal, dust filled the air about him, Vasilis thrashed about until his arms were free and he pushed himself to stand. He looked up and saw all eyes watching him, not with an expression of anger as he expected, but horror. And he could tell their eyes were not on him, but just further away from him. He followed their gaze and then saw the horror himself; the swarm of his own army. He had no mistletoe, no Ru’Kas, no way of commanding them or warding them. And he was covered in what beckoned them. But Vasilis was not some shallow bully, though he gained victories often through treachery, he was a courageous conqueror and so he struggled to stand and face them. He hoped to defy his killers.
Just then they all raced in and jumped over each other, baring their teeth and reaching out with their claws, all his courage drained away and he met the great beyond. Vasilis left this world soiling his pants in absolute fear. The party watched with great disgust as the dark beasts devoured the pile of coal and Vasilis with it. Nicholas placed his palm over Pete’s eyes and said, “This ought not be witnessed by one so young.” Then he surveyed the scene and saw a lever beside the massive kiln that held a cog in place keeping the vat upright. “Tomte. Shoot that lever!”
Nicholas pointed to the handle at the base of the molten vat and Tomte knew the plan exactly. He skillfully struck it with an arrow, it cranked over, releasing the constraints, and then the whole vat toppled over. A great fiery wave of burning lava and smoke poured out and filled the base of the pit. The Krampus found themselves trapped as the glowing wave overcame them and brought them to oblivion.
Just then the group noticed the ragged children walk onto the platform toward their rescuers with renewed expressions of clarity, as whatever spell bound them had disbanded. The children greeted and hugged each other, rejoicing at their freedom as they continued to climb up to where Nicholas stood. Hákon rested his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder and smiled. “Well done, lad,” he commended.
“Now it is time to greet you proper, my dear friends,” Nicholas said with a jolly relief. He pulled as many of his comrades as possible into a tight hug. “I cannot express how grateful I am that you came the moment you did.”
Hákon replied with his typical laugh then said, “I came on an oath I would receive a bountiful treasure.”
Nicholas motioned toward the group of children as they approached and responded with, “There is the treasure, my friend—a future saved, a hope restored.”
Hákon laughed in his distinctive boisterous way with a manly slap on Nicholas’s back and after a brief pause, changed his expression and said, “Nay, seriously though.”
“No worries, my friend,” Nicholas replied. “Vasilis’ tower is free for the taking.”
“Yet, Nicholas,” Nisse said sheepishly. “I am not sure how to feel of this. We set out to win this contest through peaceful means and restore order. Having to resort to bloodshed leaves me conflicted within.”
“I think that as well,” Nicholas replied. “Yet, in this mad world, it is fine to feel unsure and overwhelmed by it. We did all we could by peaceful means, but then comes a time when one must put aside the pacifist and take
up arms to make war in the name of ascertaining peace. Albeit as a last resort.”
Tryggr took his turn, put his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder and told him kindly, “You did it, old friend.” It was a moment of joy Nicholas had never figured he would experience again after seven years of hardships.
“We did it. All of us. Tonight chains were broken. Oppression ceased!” he announced as he began to walk amongst them a changed man. For the first time in a long time he was giddy with mirth. Then he grabbed Nysa, hugged her tightly, and turned to face the rising sun. He held his hand out toward it and said, “And behold—a thrill of hope as the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” His voice trembled and tears of joy swelled in his eyes.
They all looked out upon the rising sun shining warmly over the land of Lycia. The hills showed green as the snow melted away. The clouds rolled off to the distance and birds flew across the blue vista. Nysa kissed Nicholas on the cheek and said, “I am sure you have many stories to tell me.”
Nicholas could only smile in reply with a slight chuckle.
Chapter Fifteen
Joy to the World
No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground:
He comes to make His blessings flow.
That December morning was a magnificent day of victory and was never recorded in history. When Rome went in to investigate, the officials felt should they carry back the report to their supervisors that a host of demonic creatures worked in alliance with their established Governor in a plot to raise an army and seize the imperial throne, they would become a laughing-stock. In fact, the entire ordeal was swept under the rug at once and Rome founded a new placid Prefect; one whom the people wouldn’t revolt against. He worked as but a simple puppet and though he was seated as Lyciarch of the Lycian League, Orestes Pancras became the far more influential acting member of the council.
The people of Lycia were restored a great deal of their confiscated property and the money grossly taxed by the former Governor, and prosperity once again swept over the land. Anything they missed was either money already spent by Vasilis or a generous cut granted to Hákon and his crew. With The Dashing Dancer laden with booty the following day after Vasilis’ defeat, Hákon parted with his friends and wished he could stay, if it wasn’t for how dangerously south he had traveled. He told Nicholas about a knarr that would be perfected one day that could travel with a very shallow keel and would make his people a force not to be reckoned with. Nicholas simply smiled in reply, not sure if his friend truly proclaimed prognostic events, or was just blowing hot air. After a warm hug and a laugh, his Norse friends were off.
Nicholas had found happiness. For so long he had been under the crushing burdens of guilt, fear, and anxiety that now having that load evaporate from him, he experienced pure joy. He married Nysa, paying no heed to theories whether or not a priest ought to marry, and lived happily with her, neither entirely in private nor in full public view. It was their business and they were blissfully matrimonial. It wasn’t long after when Nicholas performed the wedding for Lysander and Deborah.
The Elves continued to live with them in secret for a period of time before they decided to move back north. When Nicholas asked to join them, they reluctantly declined the permission and said his mission in Lycia wasn’t yet over, even though Nicholas thought for sure it was. He continued to give gifts in secret for though he had returned a state of prosperity to the nation, there were still poor people, widows, orphans, and irresponsible parents. And while the secret deeds remained secret for a short while, it wasn’t long until the rumors filtered out into the public that Bishop Nicholas the Wonderworker was the man behind the Scarlet Rider hood.
While the land of Lycia, and even Rome for that matter, owed Nicholas a great deal of gratitude, he was met with scorn when Diocletian and his Junior Emperor Galerius further pushed the great persecution of Christians. A terrible amount of Christian people lost their property or their lives. Religious leaders were especially those to fall slain by Roman soldiers. Nicholas, by the best protection allowed by Orestes Pancras, was simply incarcerated to a secret dungeon on Rhodes Island.
In spite of being torn away yet again from the woman he loved, Nicholas’s new defining characteristic was glee. He knew she was in safe hands being watched over by Lysander; and his two priests whom he hid when the soldiers came for him. While he was shackled in the dark dungeon, clad in rags, with nothing but a scant amount of straw and hard stones to sit upon, Nicholas sang praise hymns day and night. Guards and other prisoners adopted him the name “Jolly Ol’ Saint” for the fact that he persisted on rejoicing in his God. He was a changed and thankful man who had set out with a mission and achieved it. He figured nothing would be able to bring him down.
2
He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove,
The glories of His righteousness.
The only thing that trembled Nicholas’s unshakeable mirth was the news he received one day when a soldier opened his door and gave him a peculiar smile. Nicholas had spent four years in that cell, his hair and beard had grown exceedingly long, and he knew when to expect visitors for meals and such; this guard came at an unforeseen time. “By decree of Emperor Constantine, you are hereby released, pardoned of all guilt, and shall be restored all property previously seized.”
“Emperor… Constantine?” Nicholas asked perplexed. “Last I heard Galerius was Augustus after Diocletian resigned due to illness.”
“Verily. Augustus Constantine has established himself to the west and has decreed religious tolerance,” the guard explained, helping Nicholas to his feet. Nicholas was given a bath, his clothes he wore the day he was imprisoned, and was then given passage home to Myra. It was a fantastic homecoming the day he stepped from the dock and found his old friends waiting for him. Along with Nysa, Pete, Lysander, Deborah, Bedros, Matthias, and Orestes were the Elves wearing headgear to disguise their leaf-shaped ears. When he greeted Nysa, their embrace was almost as passionate as the day he freed her from her prison.
That night his friends all informed him of the events taking place around the world. They explained to him how Flavius’s father was ordained as a second Augustus for the western half of the Empire and after he died, Flavius took his position. Through political maneuvers and military conflicts he endeavored tirelessly to legitimize his position as Augustus.
“So my fears are realized,” Nicholas said with a lengthy sigh. “When I heard of Augustus Constantine I prayed that this was another fellow with the same name.”
“Nicholas,” Nysa said as she rested her hand on his. “Let this not steal away your joy.” She looked lovingly into his eyes having said words to encourage him—but they didn’t. The smile was stolen from his face at the news he heard and it was as though he had forgotten how to grin again. Nysa knew him well enough to know exactly what he felt.
“His quest to authenticate his rule has brought civil war upon himself,” Lysander said as if it were a joke.
“Serves him justly,” Nicholas said scowling.
“He cannot be all that bad,” Pete chimed in. Nicholas at this moment took notice of how much older and mature the boy appeared during his four year absence. “He freed the religious captives and is pushing an agenda for tolerance.”
“How dare you say he is not bad!” Nicholas said, rising to his feet. “That man stabbed me in the back to slay me! He did it without remorse with the motive of earning a supporter in his regime to make himself Caesar! Tolerance is nothing but a gambit to continue to earn support and establish his rule. A man that corrupt has no business governing the world!”
Pete hurt as though when Nicholas’s old wrath seemed directed at him alone. He had almost entirely forgotten what words slipped past his lips—all he knew was that his dear father was upset. Indeed the politics of caesars and other kings were well beyond his understanding—affairs of state were not his interest. Nysa
grabbed Nicholas’s hand and said softly, “Nicholas.”
He looked down and saw Pete staring at the floor ashamed and his heart melted. Nicholas dropped to his knees and grabbed Pete’s hands. “My son,” he said. “I am sorry for my misdirected malice. I have been a terrible father to you.”
“Father, I understand,” he said. “You hold an office that comes with grave responsibilities.”
Nicholas smiled at the old soul before him and hugged him tightly. “I do not wish to leave ye all ever again!” he exclaimed.
“Do you mean that?” Nysa asked.
Nicholas was confused by the question and had to inquire, “Why do you ask that?”
“Constantine has spread an invitation for Christian leaders to come to him for a meeting,” she explained. “I did not want to tell you for fear you would take that as an opportunity to—“
“He would willingly have me for an audience?” Nicholas inquired further.
“It may be a trap, Nicholas,” Lysander interjected. “From current report, nobody is daring enough to meet with him. After all the people have suffered under Galerius it would be difficult to trust any emperor, no matter how beguiling they appear.”
“This, I do not think you understand, is my long awaited opportunity,” Nicholas told them. At once the gathering all frowned and they spoke over each other replies of objections and arguments—all expressing their wish that Nicholas stay in Myra.
“You jest, certainly,” said Nisse.
“You told me that my mission was not complete as of yet,” he replied. “This is why!”
“Nicholas,” Nysa said standing before him and meeting him eye to eye. “I have lost you before. You said when your sword burned away in the pit of brimstone that you were glad—glad it meant the last time you would wield a sword ever again. Have ye forgotten that you have resolved to live a life of peace?”
