Our Last Christmas Together

by Matt Mikalatos

  Shula had told them that many people sent messenger birds to watch the streets around Westwind to bring reports of the arrival of Christmas. So when a flurry of birds came over the castle walls, carrying messages for the assembled humans, a cheer rose from the crowd. “He has arrived,” Shula said. “Watch the gate.”

  A parade of humans came running across the drawbridge, shouting and laughing and singing, some of them carrying evergreen branches or candles or gifts wrapped in cloth. Then came a white pony, and on its back was a small blonde girl, her hair ratted and matted, and her feet bare. Behind her came a white horse, with red roses laced into its mane. On its back was a shirtless boy in dirty jeans, with a wooden mask covering his face.

  “Aw, no,” Jason said. “Not that kid. He’s so creepy!”

  “Do you know him?” Shula asked.

  Madeline nodded. “He guarded the door that led to the Sunlit Lands for us. He and that girl, and three adults. It was strange.”

  “Terrifying,” Jason said. “That kid is probably ten years old, but he’s the scariest thing in the entire Sunlit Lands.”

  Baileya laughed. “A mask does not make him frightening. He is still a child.”

  “A creepy child,” Jason murmured before shoveling more food into his mouth. He watched the masked boy with skeptical attention. It didn’t seem to spoil his appetite, though.

  The boy took the wooden stage which stood near Westwind’s wall. A cheer rose from the crowd. He raised his bare arms and cried out in his high child’s voice, “Peace and joy to you all this Christmas!”

  A roar of approval came from the crowd, and shouts of Merry Christmas, and Happy Christmas, and Feliz Navidad, Joyeux Noël, Krismasi Njema, and a hundred other well-wishes. Madeline was surprised by the excitement of the crowd. But then again, they were all far from home, far from their friends and families and loved ones, and nearly all of them had been here longer than she and Jason.

  “See, he is but a child, and kind as well,” Baileya said.

  The boy waited for silence to fall again, and then he said, “Where my family and I live—neither in the Sunlit Lands nor completely free of them—time moves strangely. I crossed into this place on Christmas Day—5,844 days ago. I have kept track each year, since so many arrive in the Sunlit Lands unsure what day it is, and I have become the guardian of Christmas in this place. Which means that, once again, Christmas has come to bless us, and we to bless one another.”

  Jason leaned toward Baileya. “That kid isn’t even a teenager and he just said he’s been here, what? Twelve years or something?”

  “Sixteen,” Madeline said. The boy had said time worked strangely where he and his family lived, and she remembered how bizarre it had been there, with the path that seemed like it would never end, and the door in the air that opened from those weird woods into the Sunlit Lands. The magic bent and twisted things in strange ways here.

  The boy spoke again. “Tonight—if we can call it night when the sun shines so brightly—we will hear three Christmas stories. I will choose the tellers of tales, and they will stand upon this stage and tell their stories. Then we will sing and dance and exchange gifts. We each celebrate a different way in our homelands, but here, this is the way we celebrate.”

  “He could take off the mask,” Jason said. “Seriously. He’d be less creepy if he took off the mask.”

  “Our first Christmas tale,” the boy said, “comes from one of the newest people to join us in the Sunlit Lands. Wu Song.”

  Jason’s jaw fell open. “Hey! That’s crazy. There’s a kid here who has the same name as me.”

  Baileya nudged him gently. “I believe he is speaking of you.”

  “Wait, what? We barely celebrate Christmas in my family. I’m supposed to tell a story?”

  The crowd was clapping and looking around for the storyteller, and Madeline and Shula and Baileya happily pointed to Jason, shouting that it was him, and Delightful Glitter Lady hopped around him with excitement.

  “Okay, okay.” Jason stood up. “Let’s deck the halls.”

  Jason stood on the stage and looked out at the people. He didn’t feel nervous or afraid. The attention of the crowd thrilled him. He didn’t like the kid with the mask, though. He stood on the far end of the stage until the masked kid sat down on a bale of hay in the front of the audience.

  He hadn’t prepared a story. His parents had celebrated Christmas a little bit, but more out of obligation, to seem more American. They had come as adults from China and, well, they’d rather hand out red envelopes at New Year than fill socks with presents.

  “Okay,” he said. “Here’s my story. Once there was this super sad reindeer who all the other reindeer hated, because he had a glowing nose. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, because that would be awesome. But these were deer, and deer also eat grass, so what do they know. Anyway, the red-nosed deer made friends with this snowman and then Santa Claus asked them to guide his sleigh because he didn’t have headlights for some reason, which, again, when you have flying deer it doesn’t make much sense. I mean, how hard it is to get some magic lights? Or just buy some at the auto parts store? Anyway, the snowman came to life when he got this magic hat, so he, uh. I don’t remember. I think he drove the sleigh so Santa wouldn’t be in danger if it crashed. Then the reindeer all loved the glowy-nosed deer because deer are super shallow and the deer’s competence made him popular. And Santa told the snowman he could live at the North Pole where he would never melt and die. THE. END.”

  The expected applause was more of a dull silence. Baileya looked particularly disappointed, and she leaned over and said something to Shula, who shrugged. Madeline had a half smile on her face, but even she seemed perplexed. Two guys started clapping and shouting at the back of the audience—Jason’s former roommates, David and Kekoa. “Yah, brah, great story!” Kekoa shouted, and he and David whistled and cheered.

  Jason bowed deeply, laughing along with them, and when he stood up, the masked boy was directly in front of him. “Gah!” Jason fell backward trying to escape the creepy youth, but he hovered over Jason’s face.

  “That was not a good story,” the boy said. “You are too self-conscious.”

  “You didn’t give me much of a warning.”

  “I will lead everyone in a song. When we are done, you will tell another story. One about gifts or family or infants or hope or peace on earth. A Christmas story.”

  “If it means you’ll get that mask out of my face, great, I’ll do it.”

  The boy’s eyelids drooped behind the bark mask. “I would take it off if I could, Wu Song. It has been too long since I have walked either the earth or the Sunlit Lands freely. I live in the in-between, and there is precious little joy or sorrow for one such as me.” He turned away and addressed the crowd, telling them that Jason would try again after a carol. They began to sing “Silent Night.”

  Jason sat up, trying to think of a good story. He just didn’t know any of the Christmas stories well, but there was a story his mother used to tell him. It was about gifts, and it might be appropriate here, given how few of them were able to give the sort of gifts they might like while serving here with the Elenil.

  When the song was done, Jason took the stage again. He took a deep breath. His friends watched with interest, and many others looked on with skepticism. “It’s not a Christmas story, exactly,” he said, “but it’s about a gift.

  “Many years ago, there was an emperor in the Tang dynasty. All of his people had to send him gifts each year. A ruler in a far country called his servant, Mian Bogao, and gave him two beautiful swans. They were perfect. Their feathers were the white of an unwritten page, and their eyes were as bright as gems. The ruler placed them in a cage, and Mian Bogao set out on the journey to deliver the swans to the emperor.

  “The journey was a long one: one thousand li. That’s like, over three hundred miles. Or five hundred kilometers. Mian Bogao had to walk it, too—he didn’t have a car or a wagon or a horse, just two swans and tw
o feet. So on and on he walked. The sun broiled him as he trudged along, and he started to worry that he would have nothing to present to the emperor but two baked birds. The small tongues of the swans panted in the heat, and their white feathers became dirty and grey from the dust of the road.”

  Jason paused. People seemed to be listening now. He took on the voice of Mian Bogao. “What good is it for me to deliver these swans to the emperor if they are as grey as pigeons? Won’t he turn me back to my master, and won’t I be punished severely? And look . . . isn’t that a beautiful pond just ahead? Why shouldn’t I let the swans out to rest? Perhaps the cool waters will give them relief and wash the grime of the road from their feathers.

  “So Mian Bogao set the cage beside the pond and opened the latch. He swung the tiny door open, and the swans flapped their wings in anticipation. Mian Bogao looked longingly on the sparkling water near the roadside and imagined the birds swimming and dunking themselves and getting clean and refreshed for the rest of their journey to the emperor, where they would spend their days gliding in the waters of the royal garden. The swans gathered themselves, stepped out of the cage, flapped their wings, and immediately flew as far away from Mian Bogao as they could, not stopping for food or drink until they were well out of the little man’s clutches.”

  The audience gasped, and Jason grinned at them. “That’s exactly how Mian Bogao felt. He had every expectation that the emperor would execute him, and he debated doing the same thing as the swans. All he had left was an empty cage and a handful of white feathers. But Mian Bogao wasn’t the sort of guy who ran away from his problems, so he knew he would have to be on his way. But first he washed his face in the pond and drank a bit of the water.

  “Carrying an empty cage made Mian Bogao feel completely worthless, so he left the cage near the edge of the pond, and instead took the best and brightest feather the swans had left behind and wrapped it in a small piece of white silk. Then he started walking.”

  Baileya was leaning forward, her complete attention on Jason. He felt a hot blush of blood flow to his face. He didn’t know if anyone in the audience could tell, but Baileya gave him a broad grin, which didn’t help. He gathered himself and said, “When Mian Bogao arrived at the emperor’s palace, he was amazed by the fancy towers and silk carpets and giant tables of food. When it was time for him to bring his gift to the emperor, he stood in line and watched the other emissaries walk forward with their gifts. Jewels and gold, life-sized jade elephants, and enormous handmade vases decorated with dragons. Each gift seemed more lavish and extravagant than the last, and the emperor accepted each with detached gratitude.

  “When it came time for Mian Bogao to present his gift, he bowed low to the emperor and held his small silk package with both hands above his head. The emperor took it, curious, and Mian Bogao quoted him a short poem about what had happened. The emperor was charmed by the honesty of this messenger and, pleased with his gift, had the feather put in a place of honor in the palace.”

  Someone, probably Kekoa, shouted, “What was the poem?”

  “I don’t remember the poem!”

  “Make one up!”

  “Oh, fine,” Jason said. “Hold on a second.” He did remember bits of it, but it was in Chinese. He took a deep breath and made his own:

  “Two beautiful swans like you’ve never seen,

  But on the long walk they were hard to keep clean!

  I stopped at a lake for a much-needed bath,

  But they used their wings, leaving me to your wrath.

  In lieu of those birds I’ll pay any price.

  My respect is real though my gift is light.

  I’d have brought two swans if it wasn’t for the weather.

  Instead I walked a thousand li to bring you this feather.”

  Jason bowed, and everyone applauded. He held up his hands, and when everyone had stopped clapping, he said, “The emperor was so impressed with Mian Bogao’s honesty and thoughtfulness in presenting what little gift remained that he rewarded the servant heavily, and it became a saying around the court: To walk a thousand li and present a swan feather; the gift is light but the friendship is solid.”

  The boy in the mask bounded onto the stage. Jason edged away, but the boy turned to the audience and said, “A wonderful story to remind us that the gifts which come from the heart are the best gifts, and that honesty and kindness and thoughtfulness mean much more than gold and diamonds. Thank you, Wu Song.” While the people cheered again, the boy stepped close to Jason and stared at him until Jason looked past the mask into his eyes. “Well told, Wu Song.”

  Jason jumped off the stage and made his way to his friends, where Baileya moved over to make room for him between her and Madeline. She complimented his story, which, coming from a Kakri woman, was a big compliment. Jason noticed she was sitting a bit closer to him than she had been before he told his story, and he didn’t mind, not one bit.

  Madeline jabbed Jason in the ribs with her elbow. “Great job! That was surprising. I had never heard that before.”

  “My mom used to tell it to me,” Jason said. “Usually right before my birthday. My sister called it preparing us for ‘thoughtful gifts.’” He smiled.

  Hanali was pushing his way toward them through the crowd. Madeline waved at him. “Over here, Hanali!”

  “He’s not supposed to be here yet,” Jason said, and he jumped up and made his way to the Elenil, talked to him for a minute, then came back and sat down. “After the third story,” Jason said. “I told him like five times.”

  Madeline was about to ask him what he meant when the boy in the mask announced the second storyteller. “Shula Bishara!”

  Jason and Madeline both laughed. “Shula!”

  She smiled at them. “Don’t worry, I have the perfect story for tonight.” She stood with confidence and moved to the stage.

  My name is Shula Bishara, and I’m from Syria. Not many of us celebrate Christmas there. It’s a special season, not just for our family but for our whole community. On Christmas Eve we lock the gates of our homes as a reminder of the many years when it wasn’t safe for us to celebrate Christmas. The youngest child reads the story of the Nativity, and then one of our fathers lights a fire. We all gather around and watch the flames, and the elders tell us what the flames say about the year to come. We sing songs and gather together around the bonfire, and when it gets low enough we jump over it and make wishes.

  But on Christmas morning, there are no presents for us! I know, surprising. Because Christmas day is just the beginning of our wait for the coming of a child who will save the whole world, the Christ child. So for twelve whole days—what some of you might call the twelve days of Christmas—we get ready for him to appear. And the day he arrives, January 6, we call that day Epiphany. That’s the day Syrian children get their gifts! But they aren’t delivered by a saint or reindeer. That’s the story I want to tell you tonight.

  Once, many years ago, there was a young camel named Udru . . . the smallest and youngest of all the camels in the land. He lived with his mother and father and the whole herd. They were the camels who belonged to good old Gushnasaph, the wise and kind man who made sure they were cared for. Gushnasaph was wealthy and wise, and he studied the earth and the world around him to increase his wisdom.

  One day Gushnasaph came to all the camels with his two closest friends, Larvandad and Hormisdas. The camels rarely saw them all together, and Udru could feel the excitement from the other camels. He pushed forward through the long legs of his relatives to get a better look as Gushnasaph explained to the camels’ keepers what was to happen. “We have seen a star,” Gushnasaph said. “No doubt you have seen it too.”

  Udru had seen it. A bright star, blazing in the heavens.

  “A star for the birth of a king,” Larvandad said.

  “A star from God,” Hormisdas said.

  “A star from the one who has been sent to save the world from death,” Gushnasaph said. “The one we have been promised since the fi
rst generation of people upon the earth. So we three have decided to go and find him, that we might show his worth by bringing him gifts and also our allegiance and service.

  “We will need every camel and every horse for the journey. It will be far and difficult, but we believe it will be worth it to see the great king who will bring peace to the world.”

  Great excitement went through the whole herd at these words. Or more correctly, the caravan, for the camels had already made up their minds to travel. Udru’s mother explained this to him. “When we travel, we are a caravan. It will be a long journey. Perhaps you should stay here with the sheep. You are so very young.”

  “No, no, I want to meet the king!” Udru said.

  For the next few days they made ready. The three wise friends wasted no time in preparing. Three horses, black as night, would be their steeds, and they prepared the camels to carry the gifts they meant to take to the newborn king. Every camel would be needed, for they would carry gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh, and not only that but clothes for the journey, food, and tents and pavilions and servants and more.

  There was much excitement among the camels. They had never seen the three men so excited, and they had heard them speak again and again of the importance of the star, and the even greater importance of the child.

  Udru could carry very little, and some of the other camels teased him about it. But Gushnasaph noticed and bent down to say, “Little Udru, I have an important thing for you to carry. It is my gift for the king, a container of myrrh. Guard it closely, for it is of great worth.”

  Udru could not help his excitement, and he ran and jumped through the caravan telling all the other camels of this great honor. The older camels thought this was an insult to them, for many of them carried nothing more than provisions or tents. But this was all forgotten as they prepared for the long journey. The wise men said they would travel more than 2,000 kilometers.