by JG Faherty
“Why would you help us?” Anders asked, still prepared to run or fight if the elf showed any sign of turning on them. One shout, that’s all it would take, and they’d be as good as dead. Still, a part of him wanted to believe. If the elf really could aid them in some way…
“Because I was once human like you.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Anders found himself at a loss for words.
The creature before them had once been human? No. Not possible.
“How?” Anna asked. The elf turned his attention towards her and she stared back, confusion and pity pulling down the lines of her face.
No, Anders’s mind shouted while his mouth remained frozen. Don’t listen to him. It’s a trick so you’ll stay here until help arrives.
Except Anders had a feeling the elf wasn’t playing a game with them.
“’Tis the dark magic of this land,” the elf said, his voice now filled with minor chords of sadness. “Years ago, I had the misfortune of being captured by the Hunt. Like many of the humans taken, the King’s men put me to work as soon as we arrived in Winterwood. Only they never told me the awful truth until it was too late.”
“The awful truth about what?” Anna leaned forward. Despite his misgivings, Anders found himself caught up in the tale as well.
“The closing of the Veil.” The elf’s tone grew even more somber, and beneath his thick eyebrows his eyes seemed to glisten with the tears of old sorrows. “Any humans in Winterwood when the solstice ends, they are changed by the magic of this land. Into this.” He patted his barrel chest.
The impact of the statement hit Anders immediately.
“You mean all of…?”
The elf nodded. “Aye. All those you see like me, the ones in the village, were once human. Taken from our homes and molded against our will. Pressed and twisted like dough, reshaped into the deformed thing standing before you.”
No one spoke for a moment, and then a thought came to Anders, one that he was afraid he already knew the answer to but still had to ask.
“You said those who were taken ended up like you. Do you mean just adults, or children too?”
The elf shook his head. “It makes no difference, I am sad to say. The moment the Veil closes, your humanity will be ripped from you and you’ll be nothing but an ugly shell of your former self.” He squinted at Anders. “But then, I believe you know this isn’t the greatest danger Winterwood poses.”
Anders shook his head. He knew well what the elf referred to, but he didn’t want to accept it.
“Jesus, this is like a bad trip. There’s something worse than being turned into a garden gnome?” Paul ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “I don’t know if I want to hear it.”
“Quiet,” Anna said to him. “It has something to do with the children, doesn’t it?”
The elf nodded. “I will tell you all you need to know. But linger too long we cannot. If you truly aim to find your missing kin, it must be done before this night ends.”
Anders looked at his daughter and Paul, with their red eyes and haggard expressions. While still hesitant to trust the earnest-seeming elf, he owed it to his family to do everything possible to get Jake and Nick back.
“Tell us.”
“Lucky you are for choosing my home to hide in.” The elf, who’d introduced himself as Ulaf, sat the table. As he spoke, he twisted and rubbed his stubby finger in nervous fashion. “Had it been any other, prisoners by now you would be.”
“Thank you for not turning us over to the King’s men.” Anders had already given him a shortened version of how they’d come to be in Winterwood.
“You must have angered the Julenissen greatly for him to do such a thing,” Ulaf said. “He is an honest jegere, but his temper is not to be tested. Even the trolls and the other jegere fear him.
“Trolls?” Paul frowned. “I thought we were talking about elves. Aren’t trolls giants, like ogres?”
Anna squeezed his hand. He shot a glare in her direction and shook his head. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. Maybe I’m not. Maybe this is all a flashback or something.”
“It is all real,” Anders said.
“What are jegere?” Anna asked.
“Hunters,” Anders translated, and Ulaf nodded.
“Here in Winterwood there are three peoples. The jegere, the trolls and the elfin. Jegere and trolls have always been; we elfin are…”
“Not natural.” The words left Anders’s lips before he could stop them, but Ulaf took no umbrage.
“Aye. The King, his sons, even the Julenissen, they are jegere, despite how different they look from each other. The trolls serve the King. And we elfin, we serve as well, although not always willingly. Some, like me, endure our fate and after many years earn a status of more than just slave, with a pittance of a wage and a place to live outside the castle. The ones who cannot adjust rarely live to see a second Christmas.”
Silence filled the room for several seconds as the impact of Ulaf’s words sunk in. Then Anna spoke.
“What happens to them?”
Although most of his face remained hidden by his beard, Ulaf’s eyes showed his sorrow at having to deliver grim news. “I’ve told you that some men and women taken by the Hunt become elves when the final night of the Yule meets its end. Those less fortunate will not see the sun rise, as by then they’ll be nothing but meat for stew and pies.”
Anna put her hands over her face.
“Pies?” Paul frowned. “What does pie have to do—?”
“The solstice” Anna said, her voice muffled by her palms. When she looked up, tears stained her cheeks. “You’re talking about the solstice feast, aren’t you?”
“What’s this feast?” Paul asked.
Anders answered, his growing dread they might already be too late stealing all emotion from his voice, “When the divide between our world closes, there is a great feast. The Feast of Juul. And many of those who’ve been captured by the Hunt or the Yule Lads…they become part of the meal.”
Anders paused, watching while Paul digested this new information. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Shouting, perhaps. Or a complete breakdown. Instead, his son-in-law surprised him, putting an arm around Anna and speaking in a calm voice, “Earlier tonight, Anna said something about a Krampus. What—”
“Hush!” Ulaf waved his hands at them. “’Tis bad luck to speak the King’s true name.”
“The Holly King has many names,” Anders said, despite Ulaf’s grimace. How much worse could their luck get? “The one you used is his most common, but not his oldest. In different countries he’s known as Father Ice, Jack Frost, Frey and even Odin. After Christianity spread across Europe, he became Saint Nick and then Santa. People forgot the truth, and the legend of the Holly King evolved into just another fairy tale. But some of us, the people who lived in the lands of the North, we remembered. We kept the old stories alive. Even when some refused to believe,” he added, staring at Anna, who looked properly contrite.
“Children aren’t supposed to be afraid of Santa,” she whispered, wiping away tears.
Anders sighed. “You’re wrong. They should be afraid. Very afraid.”
“So now what?” Paul asked. “If all of this is true, what do we do?”
Ulaf climbed off his chair, a determined look on his face.
“Now we rescue your children and send you all home.”
Anders pulled his hood tighter to save his face from the arctic wind. Behind him, Anna and Paul wore jackets made of goat hide, jackets which had magically transformed to the correct size when Ulaf handed them over. Leather boots had performed a similar trick.
“Winterwood has many magics,” Ulaf had said, not bothering to explain further. Anders wondered if they should be worried about magic being used against them, and then decided to focus on the p
roblems they knew about, rather than what might be.
At the moment, that meant getting close enough to the village proper without being seen, so they could find out if Jake and Nick were among the elves and children toiling under the watchful eyes of violent-looking ogres or if they were inside the castle.
“There are only two places boys would be put to work,” Ulaf told them as they made their way down the edge of the clearing, circling through the forest to avoid the glow from the bonfires. “The stables or chopping wood. Since your lads are small, I’ll bet my boots they’ve been sent to the stables.”
“I still can’t believe this is possible,” Paul whispered. “How can elves and kings and giant reindeer enter our world without being caught on camera? This is the twentieth century, not the Middle Ages.”
Anders kept his voice low enough to be swept away by the wind after a few feet. “Despite televisions and telephones, the modern world is good at hiding the truth. Some children are missing? They ran away or got kidnapped. Noises outside at night? Turn up the TV, lock the doors, don’t get involved. And with Christmas celebrated around the world, so many houses have trees and gifts the Yule Elf can’t tell the good from the bad unless they get caught outside.”
“Enough talk.” Ulaf pointed ahead, saving Anders from answering any more questions. Behind a barn carved from a fallen pine the size of a small building, a dozen tethered goats milled about, snorting and huffing in agitated fashion. To Anders’s horror, several children, their faces hidden by darkness and distance, tended to the animals, brushing them and putting down food and water while three ogres armed with knives and spears looked on. A foul odor drifted up, the harsh ammonia reek of urine mixed with feces and moldy hay.
Ulaf guided them closer, moving from tree to tree until only a narrow strip of snow and mud separated them from the stable. From their vantage point behind a wide pine, they scanned the faces of the captive children, all of whom wore identical coats and headgear that looked to be of native origin. Anders eyed the figures, cursing distance and shadows for making identification such an impossible chore.
One of the goats let out an angry bleat, whipped its head around and lunged at the boy brushing it. Before the boy could move, the goat bit into his shoulder and tore away a chunk of cloth and flesh. The injured boy cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his wound, while the goat swallowed the lump of meat and stamped the ground. One of its hooves struck the fallen boy’s head with a sickening crunch that reached all the way to the hidden onlookers.
The boy went silent.
The goat bent down and licked at the blood darkening the snow around the body, lifted its head and gave a satisfied snort.
“Take him to the kitchen,” one of the ogres ordered. Its two companions, both of them wearing wide grins, grabbed the motionless body by the feet and dragged it away, leaving a dark trail in their wake.
“Get back to work, all of you. Or you’ll end up in our bellies tomorrow eve.” The ogre gave a wicked laugh and motioned at the slaves with a pointed stick. Doing their best to stay out of biting range, the children returned to their grooming and cleaning.
“Did you see that?” Paul whispered.
“Very few escape stable duty unmarked,” Ulaf whispered, pulling up his sleeve to show them a concave, jagged depression on his forearm. The bone-white scar reminded Anders of a shark bite. “In Winterwood, even the animals have a taste for flesh.”
“I can’t see if the boys are down there. We need to get closer,” Anna said, peering past Anders.
“’Tis better to wait and—”
“Look.” Paul pointed at two boys who were shoveling manure into buckets.
Anders saw it at the same time. Blue pajama bottoms tucked into ankle-high leather boots.
Pajamas just like the ones Nick and Jake owned.
One of the boys lifted his head and Anders caught a glimpse of a familiar nose and mouth. A thrill ran through him. Nick. The boys are alive! Now, if they could somehow get their attention—
“It’s them!” Anna’s soft exclamation right next to his ear made him jump. Her body slammed against his and then she darted past him, heading across the clearing.
“Verdammt.” Anders took off after her, with Paul a step behind. If they could catch her before anyone saw them…
One of the goats lifted its head and gave a loud bleat. The others followed its lead, snorting and kicking as they sounded the alarm while staring at the intruders. The lone ogre guarding the children called out for help.
Too late. No need for stealth anymore.
“Nick! Jake!” Anna’s shout echoed off the trees and buildings. The boys looked up, their eyes wide and their mouths open. Then shock turned into broad smiles.
“Mommy!” The boys dropped their shovels and ran to Anna, who grabbed them in her arms.
Anders pulled her up and turned her towards the woods. “Head for the path. We’ll be—”
Ulaf stood between them and their freedom, his arms spread.
“I’m sorry.” He raised his voice. “Come quickly! Over here. Humans are trying to escape!”
Before Anders could move, shouts erupted from behind them. Several ogres rushed up and surrounded them, weapons at the ready and faces twisted with fury.
“Intruders!” One of the ogres, a fat man with bushy, gray hair and a bulbous nose covered in moles, jabbed at the humans with his spear. “Make no move or I’ll have your guts for supper.”
“Aye, we’ll have them anyways once Mother Gryla gets them,” another said, and they all laughed, revealing teeth more deadly than those of the goats.
An ogre glanced at Ulaf, who stood to one side, his hands folded at his belt and his eyes cast down.
“What are you still doing here? Move your arse along before you join them in a cell.”
“Yes.” Ulaf nodded and hurried away, his short form quickly blending in among the other elves busy at their various tasks.
“Move.” A sharp point poked Anders in the back. Another ogre pushed Paul, who stumbled and landed on his knees in muddy slush. An ogre kicked him in the thigh, forcing a grunt of pain from him, but he managed to regain his feet before further blows came his way. Jake burst into tears. Anna tried to go to him, but an ogre hissed at her and thrust its knife in her direction. Anders kept a firm grip on his daughter’s arm as the ogres herded them down a muddy street towards the King’s castle.
“Where are you taking us?” Paul asked. An ogre answered by swatting him across the back with a spear. After that, none of the captives said anything. Anders had no desire to speak anyhow. The looming castle held his attention. Up close, it looked even more macabre than it had from the edge of the village.
Deeply creviced bark, easily an arm’s length thick, created a black, impenetrable shield. A pair of massive doors, each one ten feet tall and just as wide, made up the front entrance. Higher up, where enormous branches split from the trunk to create spires and turrets and battlements, semicircular openings placed at regular intervals indicated rooms or chambers of some kind at every level. Dark smoke, redolent of burning wood and roasting meat, issued from knotholes that served as vents.
The ogres steered them away from the main doors and down a hill to a smaller side entrance, where a new odor assaulted them: the foul stench of human waste, a thousand times worse than any public restroom. A zone of barren ground circled the base of the castle, bereft of snow and ice. The circle of dark, slushy muck oozed and splattered as the ogres and their captives marched through it.
“Below!” a voice called, and the ogres all looked up. Several of them dodged out of the way just in time to avoid a stream of brown liquid that splashed to the ground in their midst. The vile stink instantly grew worse, to the point where Anders thought he might be sick. Some of the liquid spattered onto an ogre’s coat and he cursed, while the others snorted laughter, sounding like pigs rooti
ng for food. Anders searched the turrets overhead and saw a female ogre with a large wooden bowl in her hands, standing at a window and laughing along with her kin.
Chamber pots. His stomach churned at the realization they were walking through decades, maybe centuries, of shit from the castle’s inhabitants. Paul gagged and covered his mouth. Next to him, Anna didn’t fare as well. She doubled over and vomited, followed by a spell of gagging and dry heaving that left the ogres laughing even harder. Anders took advantage of the diversion to put his arms around Nick and Jake.
“It will be all right,” he whispered. The boys looked at him with teary eyes, but neither acknowledged his words. He didn’t blame them for not believing. He wasn’t sure he believed himself.
An ogre sidled up to them and waggled a rusty blade attached to a bone handle, causing both boys to duck behind Anders. “Think this is bad, do you? In a few hours, mucking around in the King’s shite will seem like heaven compared to what awaits you in Gryla’s kitchen.”
Anders barely had time to consider those words before they filed through a simple wooden door into the castle, where musty, mildew-saturated air was a grateful change from the stench outside. A low ceiling forced them to walk slightly hunched over, and Anders’s back protested the uncomfortable posture.
A few scattered torches provided just enough light to avoid walking into walls as the corridor wound its way downhill, but the ogres navigated the turns without slowing, which told Anders they either knew the way by heart or could see exceptionally well in the dark.
Their descent ended when they took a sharp turn and entered a wide chamber, half of which was blocked by a series of iron bars set so close together a large person wouldn’t be able to get an arm between them. A short door sat in the middle. One sputtering torch delivered a feeble glow that threatened to go out at any moment. An ogre took a long key from a peg on the wall and opened the door.
Strong hands pushed Anders forward. Caught off guard, he stumbled and fell into the cage. His family joined him on the floor a second later and the door clanged shut. The ogre turned the lock and then peered in at them.
