Claus: The Trilogy

by Tony Bertauski

  Her heart, thumping.

  The regulars were staring at her.

  The chessboard was empty, the checkers still in the box.

  Mr. Greyapple, Mr. Canoodle, Mrs. Minutelady, and the others parted as she moved slowly, wanting so badly to ask what was wrong but so afraid of the answer.

  Across the room, in the far corner, was the box.

  The lid flung open.

  The doctors huddled in a clump of white coats.

  Tinsel shuffled across the room, hoping to hear something before she got any closer. Dr. Garland glanced up. The other doctors stole glances at her. Dr. Garland took her hand.

  “Where is he?” Tinsel asked.

  “He’s fine, Tinsel. He’s fine. But there’s been some… unintended results.”

  One of the doctors stepped away. Tinsel could see a table and someone sitting on it. It was an elven. He had a great bush of brown whiskers that was more straight than curly. His cheeks were smooth and puffy beneath a shaggy clump of brown hair.

  “We suspected a transformation,” Dr. Garland said. “But not this… complete.”

  An elven.

  “We expected some changes,” the doctor continued, “with the bone-marrow transplant and full-blood transfusion, but the stem-cell infusion altered his body’s chemistry.”

  Tinsel stepped closer.

  The elven looked up.

  “He won’t remember anything,” the doctor said. “He’s starting over.”

  The clan of doctors stepped back as she neared. The elven watched her. His eyes walked around her face; then he cocked his head.

  “You,” he said. “You read me stories.”

  C L A U S

  51.

  Jocah shuffled through the snow. Her wide feet plowed through the white fluff. With her hands folded into the opposite sleeves, she walked in no particular direction.

  The sky was lit with swirling ribbons of red and green and blue. The Northern Lights were bright and alive. She recalled that elven history books – long before they were aware of things such as molecules or atoms or anything that existed beyond the realm of eyesight – had written that their civilization often worshipped the lights as gods responsible for raising and lowering the sun and moon. There were stories of alien races that left colorful trails behind their ships.

  And then came the age of elven wisdom, when they understood that electrons and protons raced from the sun and collided with the atoms and molecules in Earth’s atmosphere, releasing energy in the form of light.

  Beautiful light.

  Wondrous light.

  Jocah wandered aimlessly without the watchful eye of her people. They weren’t aware that she had slipped out of her room to walk the ice, unprotected. Jocah wanted to see the lights and the sky. She wanted to see them, alone.

  Cheers rose from below her.

  Just below the ice, perhaps only a few feet, the elven celebrated the birth of one of their own in the most unconventional way – the first newborn in over a hundred years. Although he was hardly a newborn, Jon Santa had been born- again.

  At first, the doctors thought he only took on the outward appearance of an elven, with the benefits of generous blubber and wide scaly feet. But further tests revealed he had transformed at a fundamental level. His DNA, the very blueprint of his being, had been recoded to develop in the ageless manner of an elven.

  Their treatment only intended to heal the deep-tissue necrosis that he suffered from the unprotected leap. But now he was no longer human. No longer monkey mind.

  The elven unlocked the secrets of immortality long ago. An elven lived for thousands of years. But with this knowledge, this power, there came great responsibility to live a life of balance, to control their population so they did not greedily slurp up the world’s resources. They procreated with intent. And that intent was rarely practiced since the Fracture.

  The colony only reproduced in the event of death. They couldn’t afford to grow. They remained small and agile. They lived on the run.

  But what they had gained, Jessica had lost.

  Jon could never go back where warmbloods lived.

  Her son, the boy she nursed and raised and loved – he was no longer.

  But still, he survived. He was there.

  And for that, they celebrated.

  It had been so long since they had something to celebrate.

  And this made Jocah smile.

  She was not a superstitious elven. She was rational, analytical, and scientific. She considered data and facts and probability.

  Still, she had an unlikely thought, one she couldn’t ignore.

  This is a sign.

  She made her decision.

  Jocah was far out on the ice when the celebration emerged.

  They bubbled out of the snow, one elven on top of another, like a volcano of elven that spilled rolly-polly-jolly beings that rolled and slid. Laughter gyrated through the thin air and Jocah watched from a distance as they all waited for the new arrival to come above the ice for the first time.

  They circled around Jon and cleared the snow from the ice until there was a long, slick patch and they watched him push across it for the first time, sliding over it on one foot like an old pro.

  Like the art of foot-sliding was in his DNA.

  A true elven.

  Tinsel was by his side the whole way. There to catch him.

  The mob of portly elven devolved into a raucous snowball fight of randomly interchanging teams that climbed the nearest ice ridge for cover. Snowmen were built and elven joined hands to sing and dance and slide. And some ran naked to the nearest open water to teach their newest arrival the subtleties of polar bearing.

  And above them, the Northern Lights swirled.

  Jocah watched.

  She smiled.

  She lifted her hand and a small globe – one of polished metal that reflected the lights in the sky – escaped her possession and cruised like a small bird in pursuit of freedom. Its course was the North Pole, a palace of gargantuan magnitude.

  It would deliver a message.

  Long after the celebration had exhausted, she would tell her people what the message contained.

  THE FAT ONE

  III

  In the present moment,

  Nothing stirs.

  Not even a mouse.

  C L A U S

  52.

  Jessica followed her breath.

  In.

  Then out.

  Her body ached, but still she followed. In, then out.

  Sometimes she was aware of the ice, the rising and falling in the Arctic Ocean. She heard fissures crackling along walls. Nog scampering overhead. She heard. She allowed all the sensations of the present moment without thought or prejudice, preference or demand.

  There were moments of doubt, moments when she quaked with angst and jittered with hopelessness. She was caught in whirlpools of thought that weaved stories with memories of her family. Where were they? Were they all right? Would she see them again?

  And on and on they went. And over and over she returned to the moment, the sounds and sensations. And the breath.

  In the long quiet moments that flowed through her.

  In, she breathed. Out.

  Nog dropped into the room and began heating a pot of water.

  Jessica unfolded her legs. Pins and needles stabbed along the length of her numb legs as feeling began to return. Her knees and ankles ached like rusty hinges. She stood until all the feeling was back in her legs before helping Nog prepare tea.

  Jessica set out the cups and saucers and prepared a place for each of them to sit. She remained standing until Nog brought the pot over and placed it in the center. Jessica’s joints groaned as she sat again. She showed no annoyance despite the discomfort. Nog poured the tea, carefully wiping the pot where it dripped down the side. When all was in place, they lifted their cups and drank quietly.

  It was strong and aromatic, steam wetting Jessica’s cheeks. It lightened her head, ch
arged her tired muscles.

  “The pack has been lost for three days.” Nog placed his tea cup and saucer next to him. “Your mind has quieted.”

  Jessica nodded, careful not to cling to the compliment and stir up thoughts. Previously, the longest the pack had appeared aimless was one day. But now this, three days! The reindeer would get a much-needed rest.

  More importantly, they were invisible.

  Nog unfolded a silver sheet on the floor. He touched it with his five fingers and lifted his hand, pulling up an illusion of light. It was an aerial view of the entire Arctic region.

  “We” – Nog poked at the illusion – “are here.”

  A dim green light appeared under his finger.

  “The pack is here.”

  A yellow spot appeared on the opposite side. Far, far away. It was moving to the side, away from the green dot.

  “And this is where we’re going.”

  Again, he placed his fingers on the sheet, but this time spread them out, enhancing the view. It zoomed down to the very center of the Arctic.

  The North Pole.

  It was a mountain of snow and ice with thousands of shelves and paths and a large flat observation deck on top. It was massive, reaching up into the sky as wind blew bits of white dust from the outside. Occasionally, chunks would dislodge and tumble down the sides like falling rocks, shattering when they hit the bottom.

  “It is the palace,” Nog said, distantly. “It sits on top of the world and looks in all directions.”

  He sipped, placing his cup back on the floor.

  “We will do a quick drop here.” He touched a spot at the base of the palace. “They’ll see us, but we’ll slip through a secret entrance that I remember from my childhood.”

  Assuming it’s still there.

  “Once we’re inside, we can get lost. It’s a big place, Jessica. They won’t find us.”

  “And you know where to find Nicholas?”

  He picked up the cup, holding the saucer with his other hand. The rim disappeared in a thicket of whiskers. He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor.

  Jessica experienced a whirl of fear. She observed the thoughts that bubbled up from it. He’s not there. He’s gone. He’s… dead.

  “I solved the algorithm of the warmblood mind,” he said. “I know the pattern that identifies you and Nicholas.”

  She waited.

  She watched Nog lift his finger and slowly push it toward the palace, through the illusory walls and deep inside. It was toward the center, somewhere below the surface of the surrounding ice, that a red light began to glow.

  “Nicholas is here.”

  The fear exploded with delicious excitement.

  He’s alive. My Nicholas… ALIVE!

  Jessica’s mind raced with the possibilities.

  He’s alive.

  He’s alive.

  And the yellow light that identified the pack turned toward them.

  C L A U S

  53.

  “Teach him well,” Mr. Greyapple said. “It’s nice that you have someone to help. You’ve always been so alone up here when we land.”

  Tinsel rubbed Vixen’s nose and let her fish a snack from her palm with big rubbery lips.

  “Yes, Mr. Greyapple. It will be nice to have someone.”

  Jon didn’t hear the conversation. He had an arm wrapped around a bridge of two large reindeer snouts. Dancer and Prancer lifted their heads – their racks of antlers clattered together like old branches – and Jon was whooshed up several feet. He hung on tightly as they put him back on the ice.

  They did it again. Jon laughed. Tinsel’s heart warmed.

  “Maybe more than a little help is what you need,” Mr. Greyapple added.

  The warmth flushed on her cheeks. She was sure that her face was the color of Rudy’s snout.

  “It’s not like that,” she said.

  “Not yet. Bring him down for games, Tinsel. We could use another chess player.”

  Mr. Greyapple and the rest of the elven climbed down below the ice as a late-arriving sleigh landed. Donner was carrying the largest sleigh with Jocah and her entourage. The tunnels and room had already been carved.

  Jon was laughing through another reindeer snout-ride.

  “These are high protein.” Tinsel pulled out a handful of dark pellets. “We’re moving toward winter, so it’s important to keep their energy up. When they’re back on the mainland, they’re eating lichens and leaves, but they’ve been leaping so much that they need more.”

  Blitzen lipped the handful of pellets and chewed with his mouth open. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head with a throaty growl.

  “It doesn’t taste good,” Tinsel said. “But they have to eat them before they get these.”

  She reached into the sack on her other hip and pulled out dark green leafy material. The horde of reindeer crowded around them. Tinsel gave a bunch to Jon. Donner’s eyes bulged with excitement. A long string of saliva oozed from Vixen’s mouth. Jon was afraid they’d snick his fingers off with each bite. Prancer was moaning while she chewed.

  “What is it?” Jon asked.

  “Spinach, mostly.” Tinsel stuffed a crisp leaf between Dasher’s teeth. “I coat it with pureed lichens and sesame seeds and my secret ingredient. Want to guess?”

  Jon shrugged.

  “Taste one.”

  “Eat this?” Jon held up a leaf.

  “Just a nip, try it.”

  Jon raised it slowly and let the spinach touch his lips. Comet let out a growl and Tinsel shooshed him. Jon ran his tongue over the edge. It was crisp and oily and tasted like…

  “Peanut butter?”

  “Bingo.”

  The reindeer crowded around them like an elven trough. Tinsel and Jon were back to back, hands in the air, lips smacking over them. They could feel each other’s body heat.

  When the snacks were done and the sacks empty, they remained back to back. Tinsel could feel the slow pulse of Jon’s heart – half the rate of what his warmblood heartbeat was – against her shoulders. Jon felt the soft skin of her fingers on his.

  The reindeer folded their legs for a rest and watched the two elven standing back to back, wondering what they were doing.

  “Where’s Rudy?” Jon had nuzzled into the crook of Donner’s neck, just below the arching antlers.

  “He’s the strongest.” Tinsel was wedged against Donner’s head, opposite Jon. “He’s been leaping Jessica and Nog.”

  Donner’s snores rattled softly and warmly on his back. Jon would later realize there was no more comfortable place in the world than the crook of a reindeer’s neck. He was nearly asleep.

  Tinsel, though, was awake and watching him.

  “Tell me about her,” Jon muttered.

  “Who?”

  “My mother.”

  Tinsel looked into the dark sky – smeared with a streak of green – remembering what Jessica looked like. She hadn’t known her long. In the breadth of an elven’s several-thousand-year life span, a few months was a blink. Still, Tinsel recalled her well.

  “Jessica was a strong woman. You could tell just by the way she walked that she was powerful, a woman that would give any man plenty to worry about. But she was loving, too. The way she looked at you, I could tell. She never doted on you, she was always careful to keep her distance like a mother polar bear does when her cubs are old enough to live on their own. But she always watched you. Her eyes followed you everywhere.”

  She might as well be describing someone from a make-believe land. Jon felt sadness for Jessica like a stranger feels for another’s loss.

  “And my father?”

  “Never met him.” Tinsel crossed her arms firmly. “The Cold One has him.”

  “Cold One?”

  Oh, yeah. “He’s the reason we’re out here and not at home. He’s the reason there’s a pack of mangy six-leggers hunting us. He’s cold and he’s bad and I wish he was gone.”

  “He’s colder than the Arctic?” Jon chuckl
ed, attempting to lighten her sudden dark mood.

  “Oh, he’s colder than the coldest block of ice. He freezes things that he doesn’t like just by touching them. And, believe me, he doesn’t like plenty.”

  “My father… what’s his name?”

  Tinsel forgot how much he didn’t know. He was starting over. He didn’t know his parents’ names.

  “Nick Santa, I think.” She tapped her leg, trying to remember. “Something like that.”

  “Is he in danger?”

  “Probably.”

  Jon snuggled in some more, leaning back to look at the night light show. He tried to remember if that’s what a night sky was supposed to look like. It seemed so odd.

  “Is he a good man?” Jon asked.

  Jessica never spoke about Nicholas to Tinsel. But she remembered the way Jessica would look, the way her head would hang and her lips stretched thin when his name was uttered. She loved him.

  “Yes,” Tinsel said. “He was a good man. Does that worry you that your father’s in danger?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t want anything to happen to him, no. But I don’t remember him, so it’s like I just don’t want anything bad to happen to anyone that doesn’t deserve it. Especially if he’s good.”

  “He’s good, Jon. He’s good.”

  “Now if you were captured by the Cold One,” he muttered so low that Tinsel thought he was talking to Donner, “that would be different.”

  Whether she was supposed to hear it or not, Tinsel smiled. Warmly.

  And the two rested with the reindeer beneath the glow of the Northern Lights.

  C L A U S

  54.

  “We’re all going,” the doctor exclaimed. “Come along, no more complaining.”

  “We’re in the middle of a game!” Mr. Greyapple shouted. “What, you want us to quit now? Why, I’ll lose my train of thought. I’ve got a strategy. I can’t be expected to remember it.”