Rise of the Miser: Claus, #5

by Tony Bertauski

  The reunion was greeted by uproarious celebration. Helper hats went flying. Snowballs were made and thrown. Kandi and Cris took cover, but the Sonnys joined the fun. Snow angels were carved and snowmen erected with gear-shifter arms and smoldering coals for eyes.

  Kandi watched from behind the sleigh. Sandy would have loved gear-shifter arms.

  He’d risked his life to save them, sending himself over a byte at a time. He had freed her from the master suite, had saved Cris’s life, and now he was gone. Sadness mingled with warm joy, but he would’ve been the first to remind her, I’m not alive, ding dong.

  She was going to miss him.

  When two pink dogs with oversized bows joined them, another round of snowballs came down on top of everyone’s heads. Kandi got swept up by the helpers and found herself crowdsurfing on tiny arms. They tossed her and the Sonnys about and sang their songs until she was slightly sore and definitely seasick. She latched onto a passing structure and crawled to safety. The boys continued riding the helper wave.

  Kandi returned to the sleigh.

  Her dad was alone, staring down the path where the ocean glimmered. Someone was on the beach.

  “Where’s Cris?” she asked.

  All at once, the helpers raised their hands and cheered so loud that the ground shook. They were looking up. The full moon was low in the sky. Something streaked across its luminous face. At first she thought it was a bird, but it appeared to have four legs that were stretched out. And then—poof—it was gone. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she swore just before it disappeared she could hear laughing.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  Her dad told her. She was waiting for him to touch his temple.

  He never did.

  MISER

  41

  A great reindeer pawed at the surf.

  He lowered his head and snorted. Sea foam scattered beneath his nose. The massive rack of antlers turned toward the miser.

  She stopped inside the trees.

  Her cloak was heavy. There had never been a time that it remained wet. Moisture had always evaporated upon contact. Now it clung to her arms and legs; the hood hung against her back.

  The fat man stroked the reindeer’s neck. “It’s all right.”

  His details were masked in the shadows, but she recognized the husky voice. Despite the warm night, he cinched the belt across his waist and buttoned the coat. Three helpers were at his side. They looked like dark beach balls washed ashore, the surf swirling at their oversized feet.

  The serious ones.

  She’d praised them just the other day, had mistaken them for more of Naren’s variations. But they weren’t helpers. These were elven. She should’ve known. It didn’t matter how they found her or even how they tricked her into the tower.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  She didn’t want to hijack Christmas, just relocate it. Nicholas and the elven were supposed to come to the island willingly. They were supposed to understand what she wanted. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost sight of her own intentions. This all started with a sick little boy who sent a letter to the North Pole and a mother who loved him so much.

  How did things go so wrong?

  “There’s nothing I can say,” she said, “nothing I can do...”

  Nicholas held up his hand. His glove was thick and padded. He was overdressed for the weather, but it wouldn’t be long before he wasn’t. The reindeer knelt in the surf. Nicholas climbed onto his back. The elven scurried behind him.

  The hooves sloshed through the surf. The foliage rustled as the antlers paddled the air. For a moment, she thought he would leave without saying a word. She couldn’t blame him. She’d taken him from his family and crash-landed Christmas. He didn’t owe her anything. Her actions would be a burden she would have to carry.

  They were already heavy.

  Nicholas leaned forward and whispered. The reindeer turned sharply. The fat man’s silhouette fixed a floppy hat upon his head. Once she had envisioned a skinnier version of him relaxing on the beach after a Christmas night’s ride, a man who would acclimate to warmer weather and shed the weight. But he was a jolly old fellow who evolved in the cold.

  He would always be the fat man.

  “Make the world a better place,” he said. “Starting now.”

  The reindeer’s belly inflated as he bent at the knees. The trees shook and it was suddenly dark.

  The surf raced to fill four cloven divots in the sand.

  A dark form soared past the moon’s glow. Just before it disappeared into the high-pitched whine of a timesnap, a trail of jolly laughter fell like new snow.

  She watched the tide wash away the footprints until there was no trace of Nicholas and his elven. There were sounds in the trees, those of lizards and mice. Somewhere on the island, the helpers were cheering and singing. She wasn’t ready to celebrate, not yet. She yearned for her poopies and turned to find someone waiting.

  A young man with wild hair.

  Moonlight washed him in white light, but his face was still bronze. His legs were as dirty as the path beneath his bare feet.

  My runaway.

  There were many that escaped the resort. Eventually, they all came back. It was dangerous on the island. And lonely. They would return and then grow sick. And she would replace them.

  But not my runaway.

  He changed his name and never returned. And he never grew sick. This was another weight in her bag of burdens, the realization that all her children grew sick in her care. The tighter she held them, the worse they became. She resented him for that. Every day he did not return reminded her why the others were dying.

  It was her fault.

  She took a wary step. When he didn’t flee, she began to shake. She wanted to throw her arms around him, to squeeze him and hold him like she’d always done, hold her baby so he wouldn’t get hurt. But she couldn’t do that to him. Not anymore.

  She held out her hands and closed her eyes. When the ground rustled, her heart leaped that he’d run from her again. All she could do was wait. When his hands slid into hers, she shook with sorrow.

  The well of grief was far from empty.

  Once again, she let it flow through her; sobs racked her entire body. This time, though, her anguish did not scorch the world. She was not consumed with its fury. She wept for its sadness, wept for its joy. Her burdens were stacked and heavy. This one, however, she could manage.

  His hands are warm.

  CLAUS

  42

  Ice.

  It extended to the horizon where the Northern Lights swirled green and blue. Polar bears lurked along ice fields of various sizes, occasionally swimming across the dark water of open leads. The full moon hung above the horizon, washing the white landscape in pale, blue light.

  Claus inhaled the crisp Arctic air.

  He hugged Ronin’s neck and welcomed the cold. He had sweat in the heat more in the last month than he had in the last one hundred years. This was where he belonged, bundled against the planet’s most frigid temperatures, a place barren of development and land, only fields of ice and ridges of drifting snow between him and the ocean.

  Home.

  The whine of the timesnap gave way to silence and rushing wind as they began their descent. Claus wiped his face, the blistering cold bringing tears to his eyes. Below, the North Pole was as featureless as the surrounding Arctic Circle. He rubbed his eyes again to see the slight warping of the atmosphere below. It was subtle, nothing that would be noticed from a satellite or a passing airplane.

  He knew what it was.

  The glow spread briefly across the invisible barrier. Outside the bubble, the ice was a blank canvas. When they passed through it, a thousand tiny figures appeared.

  They were waving.

  Ronin stretched his legs out. His belly shrank as the helium bladder deflated. Claus’s sleigh was packed and ready, the reindeer lined up and harnessed. They looked up from their feedbags. The roar
of a crowd greeted them before they made contact with the ice. At the last moment, Ronin reinflated to slow their descent. They landed softly.

  And the elven surrounded them.

  The triplets rolled off. Their perennial stolid expressions cracked as their brethren hugged them. A moonlit twinkle landed in their eyes, a tiny smile crinkling at the corners. The elven lifted them up and carried them across the ice, chanting.

  “Heroes! Heroes! Heroes!”

  Claus grabbed one of Ronin’s antlers and slid gently to the ice. An equally joyous party greeted him, hugging his legs. Some were weeping, others pumping their arms and singing. He fell on his knees and swept them up one at a time, his own face glistening with joy.

  When the crowd parted, he stood up to meet the only other person on the North Pole equal to his height. Jessica stepped carefully through the hushed gathering, her hands bunched together; her scarf was tightly wrapped around the lower half of her face, but he could see the trembling of her chin. She took his cheeks with warm hands.

  “Nicholas Santa Claus,” she said, “you’re late.”

  Claus bellowed heartily, his signature laughter lost in the uproar of elven. The ice shook beneath them. Thousands of large elven feet bounded up and down. He took his wife in his arms and didn’t let go.

  “I’m all right, Mama.”

  “Have you eaten? Are you rested? Your voice sounds a little scratchy, I think you might be catching cold—”

  “I’m all right.”

  He hugged her tightly. Minutes passed before he let go, holding her at arms’ length. Her ruddy, round face bathed in moonlight was what he’d dreamed of every night for the past three weeks.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  After another embrace, she left him with the elven. Gathering in a swelling crowd, he raised his arms.

  “It is so wonderful to see your smiling faces!” A brief and boisterous cheer followed. “But we still have work to do.”

  Another raucous response and the elven dispersed. It was Christmas and they were late. Each of them rushed to do their jobs. There would be time to celebrate when the holiday was done.

  And Claus had returned.

  He started toward the sleigh, listening to his launch council along the way. Sprucy, the head elven of navigation, updated him on a new route to keep ahead of morning. Sprinkles, elven of costume and gear, packed an extra set of clothing. She looked at what he was wearing and wrinkled her nose, suggesting he consider changing.

  Tinsel, reindeer boss, informed him all the reindeer were fed and rested. Claus greeted them one at a time, rubbing their noses and calling their names. They nuzzled against him and stomped their hooves. The lead harness lay flat on the snow. A great roar stretched over the ice. Claus could feel it.

  A bright glow lit the area.

  Ronin was surrounded by elven with feedbags and brushes who were trying to guide him away. Each time they reached up, he tossed his head. The great expanse of antlers swatted the air above them and sent them rolling.

  “He’s exhausted,” Tinsel said. “He can’t lead your sleigh tonight.”

  Claus approached before one of the elven got hurt. He was nearly smacked down before Ronin saw him. He dropped his head and snorted at the ice. Claus rubbed his nose and scratched his ears.

  “My friend, you’ve done it once again. You’ve saved Christmas. You saved me.”

  Warm and humid breath exhaled from flared nostrils. He stomped his front hooves.

  “Thank you.”

  When his breathing settled and his eyes grew heavy, one of the elven took his reins without resistance. He led Ronin away.

  Claus would be without his head reindeer this Christmas.

  Sleet, elven of supplies, assured him the sleigh was fully stocked with food and of course the big sack. There was also a fresh supply of flashing—the very tool they’d used to freeze the miser before she launched.

  Heather, he reminded himself. The miser is gone.

  Christmas had nearly been thwarted. But even if he was late, even if children across the globe woke up to gifts on New Year’s Day instead of Christmas morning, he wouldn’t change what happened. The miser was troubled and powerful.

  Despite everything she had done, she wanted help.

  Claus began climbing onto the front bench. There was a cushion on the seat and one attached for lumbar support. He stretched and laughed. His entire body ached, but this was possibly the best Christmas present ever.

  Jessica brought him a hot cup of tea. “Where have you been all this time?”

  Elven took the feedbags from the reindeer. The ice vibrated beneath their stamping hooves. Their breath streamed out in humid columns, looking back and waiting for the command. As was customary, the elven backed away, but Jessica remained at his side.

  “Making the world a better place,” he said.

  He kissed her cheek as the timesnap began to warm up. He raised a hand to the elven and winked at his wife.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  With a short tug on the reins, the reindeer launched. Claus let out deep, joyous laughter as time froze around him. When he returned, the elven would still be on the ice. And Jessica right where he left her.

  As if he’d never gone around the world.

  KANDI

  43

  Candy canes danced over snowcapped mountains.

  A draft of frigid air washed down the mountainsides. Kandi inhaled the spearmint breeze and dug into the ground with her bare hands. It was spongy and moist and tasted like cake. An avalanche of sweetness buried her in stacks of chocolate chip cookies and gumdrop mounds.

  “Wake up! Wake up, wake up!”

  She opened her eyes. A ceiling fan twirled in an ice blue sky, and a pair of blond heads was smiling down. They were jumping on her bed, timing their leaps to throw her higher. Above them, the illusion of the sky was filled with bouncing sugar plums.

  “Here.” One of the boys threw a shirt. “Put it on.”

  The twins leaped off in tandem and ran out of the master suite. One of them was slightly smaller than the other. That was Sonny. The other one was known as Son. They couldn’t call him Sonny Jr. or Sonny 2.0. And they wouldn’t change their names.

  Sonny and Son raced down the hall.

  Kandi lay in her bed and listened to Christmas music. The twins were only allowed to play it throughout the resort in December. They could do whatever they wanted in their room, but no one wanted to hear “Jingle Bells” in the middle of July.

  Except for them.

  Cold air blew down. Air-conditioning vents had been installed mid-summer. The miser had always kept everything hot. She was the heat miser.

  Not Kandi.

  She kept her room at a respectable sixty-five degrees on most days. It was now fifty-five degrees. It was Christmas.

  It should be cold.

  The air should nip her nose and pinch her cheeks, turn her breath into a column of steam. Tropical Christmas was going to take some getting used to.

  The twins’ shirt was a loud, festive pattern of green and red stripes. A giant reindeer had been stitched to the front with a glowing nose. The antlers reached around the back. Little blocks of candy were hot glued to the antlers. When the twins weren’t decorating their room, they were making gifts. Everyone got a shirt.

  She had a drawer of them.

  A tall glass of ice tea was waiting on the table. She sipped it bleary-eyed on the way out the door. The twins were long gone. A glider was waiting. The hallway was empty.

  No Sandy.

  Some mornings she would imagine him rubbing his eyes and pretending to drink coffee. She gave up hope mid-summer. All the technology and they couldn’t reboot the cantankerous sandman. He had transferred all of his data into the tower. When that collapsed, he was gone.

  There just wasn’t anything left.

  There were other priorities on the island. They just couldn’t spare the resources to recreate a sarcastic ghost. She missed the grumpy il
lusion, even if he wasn’t real. He would’ve loved the shirt.

  Kandi climbed on the glider and swiftly moved across the resort. The waterball fight was replaced with icy landscapes. She was cold by the time she reached the foyer, her arms dimpled with gooseflesh and her nose slightly numb.

  The illusion of the Arctic was still on the walls and even across the door. It looked like a hole in space when she opened it—the other side lush and green and humid. Cris was waiting.

  “You got to sleep in,” he said.

  “They like me more.”

  “I’m their brother.”

  “I’m their best friend.”

  His hair was past his shoulders. He had a habit of pushing it back, but it never stayed. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt with a giant gold bow on the front and candy canes dangling from the bottom. She ripped one off and bit into it.

  “Your shirt tastes better. They do like you more.”

  Hand in hand, they walked the path. Nothing had grown back since the tower collapsed. It was easy to cross the island. No more leaping between trees or toothy vines. A circular pond was still located where the tower used to stand. The sides were glassy.

  On a clear day, her reflection looked back from the bottom. It was warped and imperfect, an approximation of whom she really was. Fish swam in its depths. It was different than the hole at Avocado, Inc. The miser had fallen inside that one.

  Heather climbed out of this one.

  The warehouse was still cleaved in half. A palm tree was the only thing growing on the scorched path. It had sprouted where the mountain used to be. Now it was decorated with lights and ornaments and shiny tinsel.

  Gifts were stacked around it.

  The warehouse equipment was rusted and dormant. Sheets were hung in the hollows where the helpers built forts. Weeds sprouted from cracks. Helpers glided across the hard ground with special padding on their soles—antigrav slip-ons courtesy of her dad. As Kandi and Cris approached the Christmas palm, the helpers came out singing. They had slimmed down and many had shaved.