Claus: The Trilogy

by Tony Bertauski

  “You can remember just fine, Mr. Greyapple.” The doctor pulled his chair back from the table. “You always do.”

  “Well, what if the whippersnapper sneaks back in here, moves the pieces around.”

  “Then we’ll make him polar bear at night.”

  Mr. Greyapple smiled, rubbing his hands together.

  “Come on, everyone. Let’s go. You’re not dead, yet. We’re expected down at the hub in fifteen minutes.”

  “We never have to go to these meetings,” Mrs. Dazzleburn muttered. “Why now? Why us? Why? I don’t like it.”

  “Jocah called the meeting, expects the entire colony to be present.”

  “Maybe you heard her wrong.”

  “Maybe you need some exercise. Tinsel and Jon, can you help Mr. Greyapple while I herd the rest of these old-timers?”

  “Who are you calling old, missy?” Mrs. Dazzleburn bellowed.

  The aisles were wider than usual, which was good because the old-timers were walking side by side and not planning to move for anyone in their way.

  The room was dimly lit. Only the center stage – circular and raised, as usual – had most of the light directed toward it. The room was so large that additional support pillars, as thick as ancient tree trunks, were needed throughout, blocking some of the crowd’s view.

  Tinsel and Jon helped the doctors get the old folks to the seats at the very front. The crowd chattered happily along. There were rumors that they would be announcing a three-week leaping rotation. Things would return to normal, like they used to be.

  Jon was a good omen.

  Tinsel noticed elven turning as he passed by, sometimes whispering to each other and pointing.

  Jocah was alone on stage.

  No one seemed to note the oddness of this arrangement. In all the years that they had been on the run, she had never run a meeting alone. There was always a committee and assistants. Jocah continually insisted that she was not the colony’s leader, but rather part of its democracy – although everyone knew her opinion was all that mattered. If she wanted to be the queen, she didn’t have to ask.

  When the last person was seated – and that would be Mr. Greyapple because he was busy telling anyone that would listen about his chess domination – the lights dimmed some more.

  The crowd hushed as it fell into the dark.

  All that remained was Jocah sitting in the light. Her white robe hung loosely from her arms, with her hands resting on top of a crooked cane. Her white hair was braided into a rope that lay over her shoulder and hung down the front.

  Silence. Long silence.

  And then she lifted her head.

  She looked around and spoke.

  “Long ago, we left our home.”

  Her words drifted over the crowd, washing over them with comfort and peace. The sound was like the warm touch of a mother’s breast.

  “We left behind loved ones. We committed ourselves, together, to a wandering life. A nomadic life. In that time, we have lost much.”

  Heaviness weighed on the colony. Lives had been lost. Home had been sacrificed. Yes, much had been lost.

  “We have gained as well.”

  Another spotlight illuminated Jon. There was some muttering, a few pats on the back. Jocah looked at him, smiling.

  “Stand up.” Tinsel elbowed him. Jon elbowed back.

  “No.”

  Tinsel elbowed again. And the others around him began to cheer. He stood up to get it over with. The crowd exploded with cheers. He couldn’t see the depth of the room or the arms waving in the dark, but he could feel the floor vibrating. He sat down before the ceiling caved.

  “Look around you.” Jocah spoke. “Look at your brothers and sisters. How we’ve become this family. After all these years, we have not been torn apart. We’ve grown closer.”

  Muttering and laughter.

  “Stronger.”

  Hugs were exchanged. Hands shook.

  “Thank you for all your sacrifices. Each of you has courageously served truth, and I thank you. The path is difficult. Our DNA is programmed to survive, to procreate. To walk along the path of truth can be very uncomfortable. Truth does not seek comfort. It does not reject pain. It asks you to be present at all times. And for that, thank you.”

  Jocah remained seated, with her hands resting on the cane. She stayed that way for one complete turn of the stage. The colony began to murmur. Some even questioned whether she had fallen asleep. She was wide awake, only taking the moment to see all of her brothers and sisters. They were courageous, indeed. Her gratitude swelled in her belly like fire. Later, some of the colony that sat in the front rows swore they felt the heat as she faced them.

  “In three days,” she said, her words soft and mournful. She hadn’t finished her thoughts and tension already gripped each and every elven. Fingers clenched and legs tingled and chests constricted. Many swallowed the knots that arose in their throats.

  They knew.

  This day would come.

  “I will leave you.”

  A moan escaped from the darkness. Sobs.

  “I will return to the palace. Alone.”

  Someone cried out NO. Others stood and protested. Some hugged each other. Some hugged themselves. And some sat resolute, open to the sadness that was present.

  The chaos rumbled for many minutes. It went on and on.

  Jocah waited patiently while the stage turned and turned and turned.

  Silence settled.

  Not completely. But enough.

  Jocah stood.

  She was required to push on her cane to get upright, recognizing that – even with their science and the ageless wonder of their technology – her body was giving in to the demands of gravity. The body was not meant to live forever.

  She stood.

  One by one, the colony mounted the stage.

  Jocah greeted them. She shook hands. She embraced them. Tears were shed. Gratitude shared. Jocah remained on stage until every elven crossed the stage to say goodbye.

  To say thank you.

  C L A U S

  55.

  Nicholas watched Claus move slower than usual as he took off his coat. He stood at the workbench for several minutes as if he forgot where he was. He reached for an item, hesitated, held it far too long. Then he’d replace it and grab something else and do the same thing.

  Cane stood by his side, one arm wrapped around his leg.

  “You’ll take the rest of my memories?” Nicholas spouted.

  Claus paused with a large box in both hands.

  “That’s your plan?” Nicholas added. “To just take the rest of them?”

  “I have no plan.” Claus didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re giving up, is that it?”

  Claus, once again, paused.

  Perhaps he was thinking. Maybe he was ashamed that Nicholas recognized his resignation. In the end, he shirked the shame and reached up to the shelf. He pushed a few items to the side and reached to the back, behind a line of bottles, and pulled out a gleaming box. He placed it on the workbench and traced the edges with his fingers.

  Lights flickered.

  The top popped.

  Claus reached inside and removed the spherical object. Nicholas had seen him hide it shortly after he arrived. It seemed like forever since he’d arrived, like he’d been there all his life. Nicholas couldn’t remember what it was like to be clean shaven.

  His beard hung past his chest in tight reddish curls peppered with strands of white.

  Cane fetched the red coat.

  Claus dipped down and slid his arms into it while Cane held it. The red fuzz was matted and the white collar dingy with sweat and grime. It was barely fit for a pauper.

  He dropped the round object – its lights racing around the surface – deep into the front pocket.

  “Jack is evil.” Nicholas stood up. “You can’t let him win, Claus. You can’t give up, you know that. He’ll destroy the world, that’s what tyrants do. They’
re never satisfied until they have everything. He’ll want more. He’ll want everything.”

  Claus nodded slowly, like he was hearing but had nothing to add.

  Nicholas dropped to one knee and grabbed him. Claus’s eyes were so deep and soft and worn.

  No tension.

  No spark.

  He’d been emptied of fight. He was a shell of the elven Nicholas met when he first woke in the lab.

  “Don’t do this,” Nicholas whispered. “Don’t let your brother win. He just… he can’t. For all of us, not just the human race. You know he’ll destroy all of you. I saw it in his eyes. He’s mad.”

  Nicholas shook him.

  “I’ll help you. We can fight, we can gather the elven, band together. If everyone stands up, we can beat him. I promise all is not lost.”

  Claus reached up and patted Nicholas’s hand.

  Cane stood by his side, watching.

  Someone entered the room.

  “His Excellence requests your presence in the arena,” Pawn said, his uniform impeccably pressed.

  Claus squeezed Nicholas’s hand.

  Nicholas watched him walk, not slide, from the laboratory.

  A great elven, he was.

  He was.

  C L A U S

  56.

  The domed ceiling arched with a slight curve. It was smooth and shiny and reflected rows and rows of bench seating along the slopes. Center stage was raised like an oversized pillar. It was a cylinder, flat on top and fifty feet in diameter. At the moment, it was twenty feet off the floor, descending slowly.

  On top, a single elven.

  Jack slid along the edge. His mutterings, in most settings, would be nothing but muddy words blending together, but the acoustics of the arena reverberated them across the grand space.

  Siiiiii-lent night, he was muttering.

  Over and over.

  “Brother!” Jack peered over the edge. “Why didn’t you tell me you snuck in? I oughta punch you in the face.”

  Jack got on his knees and grasped the edge.

  “I’ll be down in a jiff. Don’t you go anywhere.”

  The cylinder hummed with commercial-grade hydraulics, pushing the mammoth peg into the floor, its side smooth and cold and polished like stainless steel. Even in the distorted field of the convex surface, Claus looked small and frail. His beard, still full and bushy, hid his chin and lips but not the withdrawn cheeks and dark, deep-set eyes and the wrinkles that tracked like webs.

  He’d aged years in the past days. His body had accepted the end, knowing what he was doing to his mind. It sensed the disappearance of so many memories, like a vessel tipped and poured of its contents. The body knew it was time to sleep.

  But Claus held onto some memories. He held onto just enough to recognize his brother standing on the center of the cylinder as it drew level with the floor.

  Jack was as blue as ever.

  His cheeks no longer the color of deep ice but more like juice squeezed from a plum.

  His eyes, hardened like coal, looked out from the pockets beneath his brows. Despite the smile, the eyes were joyless.

  “Brother, brother, brother… come now.” He waved Claus nearer. “Come stand with me on the pinnacle of the world.”

  Claus kicked forward, cruising slowly toward the center. Jack waited patiently, hands out. When Claus stopped in front of him, Jack took his hands and held them. Icy slivers penetrated Claus’s fingers. With a thought, Jack could turn him into an ice sculpture.

  For the moment, he only made his hands numb.

  “Do you know where you are?” Jack asked. “Right now, this moment? Where you’re standing? Do you know?”

  Claus waited.

  “This, right here, is the North Pole. It is the axis on which the world turns. We’re standing on it. Isn’t that cool?”

  Jack swung their arms.

  “Why does it matter, you wonder?” Jack asked.

  Claus’s arms lost feeling as the cold crept past his elbows. Jack squeezed tighter, demanding a response.

  Claus shook his head.

  “Because a king will be crowned. The world will be saved. I think it’s only fitting it happens at the top of the world. Symbolism, you know. We learned that in English class. You remember class, don’t you, brother? School? Remember?”

  What few memories Claus still possessed of those days long ago were not pleasant. Days of sitting next to Jack, kids picking on him, Claus watching. Sometimes joining in.

  Shoving him into a closet.

  Siiiiii-lent night.

  “Yes, well… I remember,” Jack hissed. He pulled him closer and the cold wrapped around Claus’s shoulders, across his back. “Oh, how funny. Eh, brother?”

  His neck went numb.

  His eyesight began to fade as Jack’s voice echoed.

  Fun, fun, fun…

  Jack was coasting along the perimeter of center stage. The edge of the cylinder was now just a seam.

  Claus stood motionless in the center, on the pinnacle of the world, stuck in place. He could hear Jack humming a little song, something that sounded like “London Bridge,” as Claus’s sight returned and his body slowly thawed.

  “Look what a little determination can do, brother.” Jack was behind him, slowly coming around his left. “A little elbow grease, a little hard work. Oh, and the key ingredient, one mustn’t forget the key ingredient to success on a scale like this. Power, baby.”

  Jack raised both hands and sang.

  “POOOOOO-WER, YEAH!”

  His laughter rang all around.

  He wiped a tear from his cheek.

  “Oh, God. I love this,” he muttered. “Listen, here’s what’s going down. In three days, we’re throwing a party. You, me, the entire palace. We’re not messing around here, Claus. We’re going to party like its 1899, you understand. I’m talking lights, music, celebrities, the whole deal. There’s going to be a red carpet; it’ll be recorded from ten different angles because we want this event, every SECOND of it, saved forever and ever.”

  He cruised behind him, humming.

  “In case you’re wondering, I’m the celebrity. And you’re welcome. Few people know someone as big as me, brother. Only you know me inside and out. You’re welcome.”

  A sharp edge honed his voice.

  “Only you.”

  Jack was counting on his fingers like he was trying not to forget anything, making sure it was all in place. He seemed to forget Claus, his red coat splayed around his feet, standing still and waiting.

  “You’ll be sitting right there.” Jack suddenly picked up the pace, sliding faster and faster, only speaking when he cruised in front of Claus.

  “Right there,” he said, quickly pointing at a bench in the front row.

  “You get the whole bench.

  “To yourself.

  “Because you’re family.

  “And family.

  “Means something.”

  Faster and faster, until Jack whirled around and around, the circle tighter and tighter until he was spinning like a top, hands above his head. His features a blur and his voice had an odd vibration.

  “Do you–

  “know why–

  “we’re having–

  “a party?”

  When Claus didn’t respond, Jack repeated, “Go ahead, brother… ASK!”

  “Why…” Claus’s lips were so cold. “Why the party?”

  “Becaaaaaause…” Jack’s tone tilted with anticipation.

  He stopped.

  Arms out.

  “Mother’s coming.”

  Claus was cold like a gutted fish.

  Any other time, he would believe it was a lie.

  He knew it was not.

  She was returning.

  Perhaps, like Claus, she sensed the end was near. He hoped that she didn’t feel the howling hopelessness inside her gut, too; that she had some sense of what to do. That she had a plan. That she wasn’t useless.

  That she knew how to st
op the bluish jester doing a little tap dance in front of him.

  “Why?” was all Claus could muster.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Jack said. “It shows initiative, curiosity. Interest, my brother. Good for you.” He slapped Claus on the cheek. “Good for you.”

  His hand was like a bucket of water from the deepest part of the Arctic.

  “She knows it’s hopeless,” Jack said. “That it’s over. We know where the rebels are at, we’ve been tracking them relentlessly and we’ll destroy them. Well, I’ll destroy them. Give credit where it’s due. Come to think of it, I think the old lady knows I’m better than you and her and every elven on ice. Maybe she’s hoping I’ll show mercy.”

  Jack made a face.

  “So there. Stick that in your pipe, loser.”

  “The whole… colony… is coming?”

  “The rebels, you mean, brother? Not the colony, WE’RE the colony.”

  The hairless brow ridges buried the dead coal eyes. “We stayed, they left; don’t you call them the colony. You got it?”

  Claus nodded.

  “Good. Now where was I? Oh, yes. No, just Mother is coming. She’s the only one. We’ll hunt the rest down, like animals. I kind of like it that way. Sounds fun. You know how when you’re just so excited for some day to come, you know, like if someone promises to bring you a whole bunch of presents and you just can’t sleep the night before? And then the closer it gets, the more you don’t want it to end. You know what I mean? Like savoring a sugarplum.”

  He chewed with his eyes closed and whispered, “That’s what I mean.”

  Jack looked up at the ceiling, admiring the reflection.

  “I don’t want to eat all the sugarplums at one time, so I’ll probably hunt them down a little at a time. Maybe let them pop out a few babies, reproduce a little, give them a head start. Something like that. What do you think?”

  “Doesn’t sound like you want to help our people, Janack. Or the world.”

  “Well, who says you can’t have a little fun while saving the world, huh? And, besides, those REBELS are traitors, brother. They’re cancer. And you know the best way to treat cancer, right? You know, you’re a scientist.”