The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  The feasting went on for hours. Tables had been set around the Terrace of the Swans, and every citizen of Forever, as well as every magical visitor from the mortal world, was invited to the celebration. Eternal life gives a certain edge to the appetite, and the immortals feasted as they had never feasted before: towering glacé castles, roast meats, puddings both sweet and savory, glogg (in honor of the trolls), a magnificent macédoine of fresh fruit, and flower nectar concoctions of numerous kinds. For the duke of Savoy, notoriously touchy, a monstrous maccherone had been constructed. For the roc, broiled snakes. For the pixies, piles of pineapple, which they loved and rarely got. Every appetite was satisfied until the guests moaned with joy and remorse, and the dancing began. Nicholas led the fairies in a hornpipe, and the rest of the guests soon joined in. A roundelay upon the lawns, a caper along the edge of the reflecting pool, a waltz on the lower terrace—the dancing went on until the sun grazed the tops of the trees.

  Holly, who had slept soundly through the jolting carriage ride to the castle and through the riotous festivities that ensued, awoke as the crowd grew quiet. Guests drew around as Sofya lifted the baby from her soft nest and gently cuddled her against her neck, stroking the small, downy head with one finger. Nicholas and Viviana looked on tenderly as Sofya began to whisper into their daughter’s tiny ear in Russian. After a few moments, Sofya lifted her eyes and looked toward Nicholas. “It is as you wished, my dear friend. To your daughter I have given the gifts of wisdom and strength. And, as certainly as I am Sofya, goddess of Russia and keeper of Holly’s spirit, these will serve her well for all the days of her life. However, there is a greater gift than those I have given, and that is love. This is not for me to give, but only to foresee, and I tell you, my friends, that your daughter will not only light your way with love but will illuminate the path of each person she meets. Nicholas and Viviana, immortal beings, you are in the presence of the purest and most compassionate heart that has ever been born.”

  Hardly had the words left her mouth when a shriek of ripping metal tore the quiet evening. It echoed throughout the kingdom and, bewildered, the guests looked at one another, the sky, the ground, for an explanation. Nicholas jumped to his feet in alarm, but the torturing scream ceased—and nothing followed. There was a minute of confused silence, then agitated voices called out suggestions and the smaller beings began to buzz nervously about. The roc, startled out of his usual nonchalance, flew into the air to investigate from above. Viviana, pale with fright, rushed to retrieve her baby from Sofya. The goddess relinquished the child and stood, stone-still, listening intently as though she could hear something that the others could not.

  The anxious guests did not notice a thin chill creeping along the soft lawns until it wove its way among them. They shivered, and the clammy dampness rose around their legs. They looked wildly around—what had happened? The fog seemed to bring with it a sour smell, a rotting odor with a faint whiff of metal. Some of the sprites began to choke. Others gathered their belongings hastily, preparing to flee.

  “Stop.” Sofya’s voice, usually so tranquil, had a ring of command. “We must stay together. Herrikhan has arrived in Forever.”

  Chapter Five

  HERRIKHAN! THE GUESTS LOOKED uneasily behind them. What was he doing in the Land of the Immortals? Hadn’t he been banished for all time? Nicholas and Sofya exchanged glances, for they alone knew the conditions of the curse: Herrikhan would be freed if he could possess the purest and most compassionate heart ever born.

  But she’s only a baby, thought Nicholas. You know him, Sofya replied silently. You know that he will take any chance to attain his freedom. He can’t come here, fumed Nicholas.

  He can try, cautioned Sofya.

  Sofya turned her black eyes to the anxious crowd. “Come!” she cried. “Come and listen, immortals. Herrikhan can only enter your presence if you feel fear. When you trust in the power of love and are brave and resolute, he has no purchase on your souls, and he falls back to his tomb in Odyl. Remember, Forever is not a land of fear.” She stepped down from the dais and walked among the immortals, touching a hand here, a shoulder there. There was something in her face that soothed them. “Make no mistake,” she assured them, “love will prevail.”

  The naiads shook themselves, the fairies and goblins took deep breaths. The knights and princes squared their shoulders, the queens lifted their heads majestically. All of the immortals braced themselves and pushed fear away.

  It worked. The damp air thinned and faded. The wind-lashed trees calmed, and the night grew still. The stench lifted, and the soft scent of evening primrose floated about. The Land of the Immortals sighed and returned to itself.

  Meanwhile, Terra and Tundra loped through the quiet, darkening streets of Forever and out into the forests beyond. Even the woods were eerily empty, for all the witches, sprites, and pixies were at the palace. The two wolves ran, not speaking, toward the gates mounted in the farthest crystal glacier on the outskirts of the land. These, the Amaranthine Gates, were wrought from thousands of jewels—a diamond for each immortal who had passed through—set in a hundred-foot arc of gold, and the light they cast stretched like a bridge from the mortal to the immortal worlds. On the gates were graven the words that served as the legend of the land, Love Conquers Time, and it was beneath these ancient letters that the newly made immortal souls entered Forever, that magical visitors from Earth were admitted, and that Santa Claus made his ceremonious departure on Christmas Eve.

  When the jagged sound of metal had torn through Nicholas’s gardens, Terra and Tundra had turned to each other with a look of foreboding. There was only one way such a sound could be made: someone or something was attempting to break down the gates. With a silent, scarcely perceptible nod, the two wolves slipped away at a casual pace until they were beyond sight of the palace and then ran with ever-increasing speed toward the boundary of Forever. Finally the gates came into view.

  “They’re still holding,” affirmed Terra, with a breath of relief.

  The arc of gold glittered in the falling rays of the sun, but there, on one side, the jeweled post had been torn from the ground. It hung, shattered, a good two feet above the ground where it had been lodged.

  The wolves contemplated the wreckage. “How did he do it?” Tundra muttered.

  “Why did he do it?” Terra said sadly. She padded closer to the twisted shards of gold. “The gates will open for any immortal. Why did he need to destroy them?”

  A chill wind gusted through the gash in the gate. Terra hesitated, then leaned forward to sniff. With a wild howl, the wind ripped through the hole and buffeted the wolf against the rungs of metal.

  “Terra!” called Tundra, panic in his throat.

  That was enough for Herrikhan. He seized Tundra’s fear and dragged Terra toward the breach in the gates. Frenziedly she fought, snapping at the wind and digging in her legs, but her defenses were useless against her invisible enemy. Tundra leaped forward to intervene, but he was thrust aside by the gale and lay, pinned and helpless, against the glacier’s edge, while his beloved Terra was pulled, howling, through the rent in the metal.

  One instant she was in the Land of the Immortals; the next she had fallen forward, onto mortal soil. The tearing wind took its vengeance on her and, now subject to mortal wounds, Terra was soon beaten. Her legs collapsed under the battering of the storm, and though she made a last, desperate effort to regain Forever, she was blinded by the choking dust that whirled around her head. Tundra called her name frantically. She dragged herself farther and farther in the opposite direction, away from the gates and then slumped hopelessly to one side and lay down, panting, unable to continue.

  Cloaked in clouds, Herrikhan looked down contemptuously at Terra’s still-breathing frame and, with a flick of his wrist, sent out his birds. In a swarm they descended on Terra, pecking one another viciously in order to reach the food they were ravenous for.

  Tundra screamed once and then hid his head.

  Utterly unawa
re of the carnage that was occurring at the gates, Sofya continued the ceremony that had been interrupted. Composed and graceful, she approached little Holly, burbling and gurgling in her mothers lap. Leaning down, Sofya fastened a small, intricately designed locket around the child’s neck. Then she kissed her soft cheeks. “I did not know that you would need this so soon, my Holly. Stored within this locket is a secret that belongs to the elders. You must never open it but wear it always. It will keep you safe and guard you all your days. Never forget that the power of love is within you, and it will be your shield. Now you may rest easy, my child, for the strength and wisdom I have given you can never be stolen away. Wear this locket in peace and safety, and let it remind you that you are not alone.”

  Sofya straightened and turned to the guests. “I have also brought you, Holly, the gift of laughter—in the form of”—Sofya struggled briefly with her cloud-colored robes—“of”—the robes appeared to be leaping up and down—“of—oh, for heaven’s sake, sit still a minute! In the form, I say, of—oh, bother! Here she is, and her name is Alexia, and she’s not much older than you are, and she has terrible manners.”

  “Don’t!” insisted a little gray fox, jumping out of the cloak. Momentarily abashed by the sight of the crowd, Alexia sat down with a thump. Her shyness lasted only a few seconds before it was overcome by her curiosity. She approached Viviana’s chair, tail high, and put her forepaws upon the seat. Her golden eyes looked into the baby’s soft green ones with unblinking interest, then she scrambled up into Viviana’s lap to join her new friend.

  “Down, down, Lexy!” scolded Sofya and, reluctantly, the fox obeyed.

  Now the other guests brought forth their gifts for the baby. Gaia approached, bearing a quilt made of rose petals. Shy fairies came in groups, offering fairy lights and magic straws. The fearsome Sphinx gave the baby a small silver capsule that contained the answer to a terrible riddle. The water nymphs had worked for days to make a swan-shaped boat from abalone shells. The dwarves and trolls presented caskets of jewels, as they always did. Unlike the magical beings, whose presents tended to be rather impractical, those who had lived a mortal span presented toys, books, and soft swaddling blankets. Soon the stacks of boxes, chests, and barrels threatened to overwhelm the terrace and, noticing that Holly was fast asleep and Viviana was shaking with exhaustion, Nicholas brought the celebration to an end.

  The last good-byes were over. Melchior and his assistants were clearing off tables and tsking over wasted food while Viviana was resting inside the palace and Holly was nestled in her lacy cloud of a cradle. Out in the cool evening, Nicholas dropped onto a bench and sank into thought.

  Some time later he straightened. “Terra!” he called. “Tundra! We must make a tour of the periphery.” Silence answered him. “Terra! Tundra!” he called again. Nothing. This was most unlike them. Nicholas felt a chill of dread run down his spine. “Tundra. Terra,” he said, almost inaudibly.

  Trying to ignore the dread that clawed in his throat, Nicholas turned on his heel and headed for the stables. Alarmed by his grave face, the stable goblins hastily saddled Vobis, and Nicholas swung onto the horses back. “The glaciers, Vobis,” he commanded briefly. “Begin with the amethyst.”

  Vobis did not have to be urged. With one startling leap they were on their way, and moments later the , purple glacier, glowing eerily in the starlight, came into view. Silently Nicholas took stock and moved on. The moon arose and shed its heartless light on the mountainsides, but all was quiet. There was no sign of damage, no evidence of invasion. To overcome the whisper of fear that had followed him for hours, Nicholas assured himself it was likely that Herrikhan, defeated, had simply turned around and gone back to his prison. But where, then, were Terra and Tundra?

  On he rode, to the farthest-flung outskirts of his kingdom. The crystal glacier came into view, and then the Amaranthine Gates. Peering through the gloom, Nicholas saw that the soaring gold gates were still standing, and a worry that he hadn’t even realized he was harboring faded. Then, coming closer, he made out the hole blasted in the gatepost. “Faster,” he said hoarsely to Vobis. Seconds later he was striding toward the shattered metal when a dark shape thrown across the ground caught his eye. “Tundra?”

  There was no answer.

  Nicholas knelt beside the wolf, stroking his thick, white fur. “What’s happened here? Are you wounded? Oh, Tundra, come back.”

  A long shudder shook the wolf’s frame. “I cannot, Your Majesty,” Tundra said in a low voice.

  “You must, my friend,” said Nicholas, “for I cannot manage without you.”

  There was a silence. “She’s dead.”

  “Terra?”

  “Yes.”

  Nicholas was quiet. “How?” he asked finally.

  “The wind.” Tundra’s voice shook. “There was a terrible storm. I don’t know how—but the wind pulled her against the gates, and then out—and Terra … Terra got confused. I tried to go after her, but I was held back, sire. I was pinned against the ice. It was evil—it was as though the storm wanted me to watch her die. And then,” Tundra choked, “then, birds swarmed over her.” The wolf stopped speaking.

  Nicholas rose to his feet and walked toward the jeweled bars, then burst through them as though they had been made of nothing more substantial than spider-webs. He glared into the darkness outside the gates and saw, not far off, Terra’s battered body. He approached and knelt down, closing the lids over her eyeless sockets and offering a prayer that her soul would soon forget its suffering. Then he lifted her into his arms and walked swiftly back to his own land, setting her next to Tundra. “Come back to me when you can, Tundra, I beg of you,” he said.

  Slowly he walked toward Vobis. As he climbed into the saddle and turned away, he heard the first of Tundra’s howls, and his skin crawled. Herrikhan has had his triumph, hasn’t he? thought Nicholas. But why Terra? Terra is nothing to him. It’s the pure heart he must have.

  As he rode he noticed that the dark trees and silvery glades fining the valley floor seemed curiously empty, as though everyone was hiding. As though something was hiding. A slight rustle of leaves caught his attention. What if he’s here? thought Nicholas suddenly. What if somehow he’s made his way in? He pulled at the reins, and Vobis strained forward. What if he’s inside the palace? Who would know, except for Sofya and me? Not even Viviana would be able to recognize him. What if he s crept up the steps, what if he’s walking toward the baby’s cradle, his hands out, reaching down to touch her—

  Terror caught at him. His heart was thundering in his chest. “Home,” he said urgently. “Home now.”

  Chapter Six

  NICHOLAS RAN UP THE palace stairs, the clatter of his boots echoing across the empty gardens. “Lotho,” he gasped to the house goblin who stood at the door, “where’s the queen?”

  Shocked by the sight of his master’s flushed face and gleaming eyes, Lotho stammered, “Her Maj-Maj-Maj is in the nurs-nursery, Your Maj-Maj—”

  Nicholas raced toward the staircase, calling back over his shoulder, “Get the dragons up. I want the dragons flying over the palace. Tell Melchior.”

  “Wait, Nicholas! We must get Holly now—this instant!” It was Sofya, her hair streaming behind her like silver water. As she skimmed toward him, her feet scarcely touching the smooth floor, Nicholas saw, for the first time in his thousand-year memory, an expression of alarm on her face. The sight of it was enough to set his heart thumping.

  He nodded and dashed up the stairs. The Hall of Mirrors was dark and silent now, and the glowing candles that emerged from the walls to light their way could hardly keep up with the two figures racing toward the nursery.

  They burst through the doors, their ragged breath sounding harsh in the quiet, moonlit room. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, but it took a moment before they perceived Viviana s figure standing still, as though she had just jumped up in surprise. Her wide eyes were staring into a dark corner of the room.

  Dreading what he was to s
ee, Nicholas followed her gaze.

  In the first seconds, it was only a thin outline, a few sharp dashes in the gloom. But then it began to take shape. The edges of the robe, the glint of dull iron, and the gaunt, ridged face seemed to assemble themselves from a cloud of flea-colored particles. Herrikhan stepped forward, his narrow eyes clicking from one horrified face to the next. “How charming to find you here, Sofya,” he said, his tongue jutting rhythmically from his mouth. “I have so been looking forward to our reunion.”

  Sofya’s eyes slid away from his, down to the fleecy bundle that lay in the cradle. With a quick movement, she lunged toward the baby, encircling her arms around the soft blankets. She drew back, preparing to flee.

  “Sssss.” Herrikhan hissed his laughter. “Oh, my dear, have you forgotten that love and fear can go hand in hand?” He flicked his hand toward her, and she froze into a living statue, with Holly in her arms. “I always knew when you were frightened. Particularly when you were frightened of me.” He loomed over her with a gloating smile. “You too, fool,” he whispered, paralyzing Nicholas with a wave of a finger. “How entrancing to find you all so terrified. It makes everything much simpler than I expected, I must say. And now, little what’s-your-name,” he muttered, drawing a small, hide-covered box from the folds of his robe. “I brought you a present. Daddy’s not the only one who brings presents to good little girls,” he cooed, flipping open the box to reveal a small, strange object. It was transparent, gelid, cunningly made. It was a heart of hardened snow.

  “I suppose,” said Herrikhan, looking with distaste at the squirming bundle, “that I shall have to handle you myself.” Gingerly, he lifted Holly from Sofya’s frozen arms, laid her upon the floor, and began to unwrap her blankets. The baby lay in her nightgown, looking curiously up at the hollow eyes fixed upon her. Herrikhan shook himself. All that was left to do was frighten her thoroughly. His gray lips flattened as he watched Holly’s light eyes dance over him. Then he opened his black mouth wide and screamed, high and shrill, his rotting breath hot on her cheeks, his jaws distended, and his narrow eyes bulging.