“So what do you know so far?” he asked at last. “You slowed down time to save that boy, right? How did you do that?”
“I don’t remember. It just happened.” I nodded over to Mr. Winters. “He gave me lessons in the freezer at school.”
Dad raised an eyebrow. “My daughter getting time-bending lessons in a meat locker.” He laughed and leaned in close. “That Mr. Winters is an odd one, with the whole ‘m’lady’ bit.” This from a man who called me Angel Butt and spun in circles soaking in the cold. “The first thing I learned was how to create what we call an NP, a North Pulse. It’s like a burst of energy. Watch.” He circled his hand slowly and closed it to a fist, then flung his hand open in the direction of the mailbox at the front fence. The mailbox rattled, and the red lever fell with a clank.
“Cool,” I said.
“Yeah, it is kinda cool.”
“How do you do it?”
“Think of space and time as sort of a web we don’t see.”
“Yeah, Mr. Winters explained that.”
Dad nodded. “The gift we have is being able to do things with that web. You just have to trust it’s there.” I looked around, as if I might be able to see what he was talking about, but all I saw was the house, the Christmas tree, the mailbox, the reindeer barn, and endless snow. “Concentrate on seeing what’s not visible, and then move your hand through it, circling like you’re gathering up the web in a ball. Then just throw it. The tighter the circle, the smaller the ball. How hard you concentrate factors in, as does the length of the buildup. It all determines the strength and size of the pulse. It’s not an exact science. Your emotions affect it, so you have to stay on an even keel to control it. Understand?”
“I think so.”
“OK, give it a try.” He pointed to the Christmas tree. “See that red ribbon on the lower branch? Try and move it with an NP.” He stepped closer and took my right hand in his, mimicking the motion his own hand had made. “Concentrate on the air around us.”
I nodded, and he stepped back. I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to picture the web. How in the world do you see something that’s invisible? I circled my hand and closed my fingers as if grabbing a handful of strands. Then I threw my arm toward the ribbon. Nothing. The ribbon didn’t even flutter.
“That’s OK,” my father said. “No one gets it the first day. Try again.” I wound up, grabbed the web, and then flung it toward the tree. Nothing. I tried again. Then again. Then again, getting more and more frustrated.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. Duh. I switched hands. I concentrated so hard I thought my head might burst. I circled my hand again and again, increasing the speed. I closed my hand on the invisible web, imagining that I was grabbing a huge handful of strands, making a giant ball. Then with all my might, I flung my left hand toward the ribbon. The air pulsed violently. My father jumped back as if getting out of the way of a speeding bus. Mr. Winters ducked his head into his arms and threw himself to the porch floor. The ribbon blew off the tree. I heard a violent cracking sound. Tree branches snapped. The bulbs on the string of lights burst. The tree swayed, and then started to fall. “Oh, no,” Dad muttered. Mr. Winters glanced up from the porch floor, scrambling away just in time. The upper branches caught in the power lines and yanked them down. Across the yard, the generator they were attached to exploded in a shower of sparks. The tree fell as if in slow motion onto the roof of the porch. The top branches, wires and all, crashed through a window on the second floor of Santa’s house. The porch roof caved in. Another generator in the distance blew. Everything went dark. Then there was silence.
Mr. Winters was picking himself up out of the snow. I looked at my father, whose mouth hung open, his eyes wide. I wondered if I was in trouble. He looked at me. “So you’re left-handed,” he said. “Good to know, Angel Butt.” Then he smiled.
CHAPTER 9
Visiting the Elves
The elves made the repairs within a day, and it was as if nothing had happened, as if I hadn’t almost destroyed Santa’s house. I watched from the front window as they worked. Dozens of elves scurried around, chattering telepathically at such speed I couldn’t understand much of what was being said, though I did overhear Gifted One and wondered what they were saying about me. Maybe they were cursing me for all of the unexpected work less than two weeks before Christmas. Do elves have their own swear words?
The last one stayed just past nightfall, touching up the paint on the beams they had put in to reinforce the repaired porch roof. I watched him work and then wondered if he was even a him. The elves were beautiful, not at all like the stout, little creatures who appeared in every Christmas movie and cartoon ever made. They were lean and pale and athletic.
The elf snapped the lid on his paint can shut and cleaned his brush in a small bucket. I could hear him humming softly in my mind—so freaky!—and he glanced at me through the window and smiled. Had he heard my thoughts? Embarrassed, I retreated into the shadows of Santa’s house to look for my father and the others, who, last I checked, were gathered around the dining room table discussing plans for Christmas. “We’re always looking for ways to make the night run smoother,” Mr. Winters told me. I nodded, not the least bit interested when he started talking about “efficiency” and “distribution” and “volume,” stuff that sounded suspiciously like math. I preferred to watch the elves.
As I walked, I heard a soft voice inside my head: Come, my child. I turned quickly. No one was there. But a shadow passed the window. I checked to see if anyone was watching and then slipped out the door. The elf was already across the yard. Follow me, Gifted One. The elf never glanced back as he glided past the reindeer barn and into an open field lit only by the full moon. His feet skimmed across the snow, not leaving a mark, while mine sank with each grueling step. I loved the snow, but that still didn’t make it any easier to walk in when it was two feet deep. The elf stopped occasionally to wait for me, still not looking back. I wondered if he could read my mind, and I concentrated hard, directing the question toward him. Can you hear my thoughts?
Only if you want me to, or if you do not guard them.
How do I do that?
You just do.
I nodded and followed the elf into a thick forest. The trees blocked out the moon, and in the sudden darkness, it was clear that the elf glowed, a pale white, as if the moon’s rays clung to him. The elf lit the way through the trees. How long have you lived here? I asked.
Centuries by your measure of time.
You live for centuries?
Yes.
So cool! We emerged into a huge clearing, the bright moon making it seem like day after being in the dark forest. I gasped. In the center of the clearing was the largest tree I had ever seen, as large as a redwood, but more twisty, like an oak or a chestnut, its branches extending every which way, curling outward and upward and sideward. And weaving in and around every branch was ice! But not like ice any human has ever seen. A blue, glowing sort of ice that formed steps and slides and houses and tables and benches and chairs. An entire frozen world. There were ice sculptures everywhere, of Santa, reindeer, elves, Christmas trees, toys, and giant presents with intricately tied bows. The elves glided down slides like snowboarders on a mountain. They hurried up and down steps, as if they were flying. They sat on benches, chatting away, lips not moving, making no sound. The tree world was alive with activity, but strangely silent.
Hurry, my child. The voice in my head made me jump, and I let out a little squeal, which echoed through the ice world. A hundred heads turned. The Gifted One … He brought her … She has come … So beautiful.
Beautiful? I liked the sound of that, but I still wasn’t crazy about the whole “gifted” thing. Where are we going?
She wants to see you.
Who?
The Ancient One.
Boy, they really liked titles in this place. Gifted One. Ancient One. I wondered if there was a Stupid One or an Annoying One. Maybe a Gassy One. The elf glanced at me.
Oops, I needed to be more careful guarding my thoughts. Why does she want to see me?
No one knows why she does anything. She’s … the elf hesitated … unique.
Unique? What did that mean?
You shall see.
We reached what appeared to be the edge of the kingdom, and I realized that the giant tree, the clearing, it was surrounded by forest. A huge circle. Along the far edge of the forest sat a small wooden house, nothing like the ice structures in which the rest of the elves lived. A plume of white smoke curled from the chimney. The elf stopped on the front porch and put his hand up to knock. But before he could, the door slowly swung open, creaking like the place was haunted. He jumped back, startled, and I peered in. It was a log cabin—one large room—and in the corner was a bed covered by an antique-looking quilt. A table with three chairs sat next to what looked like some sort of icebox. Welcome, my sweet, came a voice in my head. The elf and I stepped into the house. A couch and chair sat in front of a fire that crackled in the hearth. What kind of North Pole elf would need a fire?
The voice returned. A remnant of my life among your kind. I searched for the source of the voice. From the shadows stepped a female, stooped over, her long, white hair hanging nearly to the floor. She was beautiful like the other elves, but wrinkled around her eyes and mouth, the blue ice of her eyes dulled by time. Her hands were gnarled, and she moved slowly, without the effortless grace of the others. She wore a flowing blue robe tied loosely at the waist. This, without a doubt, was the Ancient One. If elves lived for centuries, then she must have been several hundred years old. She motioned for me to join her at the table. My guide stood near the door, fidgeting, eyes darting around nervously.
The Ancient One sat across from me, groaning as she lowered herself into the chair. She let out a long sigh once she was seated. How old are you? I asked, only half intentionally, thinking the thought but not sure I should actually share it.
The Ancient One laughed. “Don’t you know it’s not polite to ask someone’s age?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, then realized she’d spoken aloud. “Hey, you can talk!”
“Of course I can. How else could I have lived among your kind?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“As for my age,” she continued, “by your standards, I’m more than 500 years old.”
“Holy moly, that’s old!”
“Indeed,” the elf said. “And I feel every year in my bones.”
“What did you mean about living among my kind?”
“Just that. I left this place a long, long time ago.”
“And you lived with humans?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Restlessness, curiosity, stubbornness, arrogance. I was not an easy elf when I was young.”
“Where did you live? And who with? What is your name? Why did you want to see me?”
“So many questions, my sweet.” She chuckled softly. “They call me Noelle, and I shall tell you anything you want to know. But my tale is too long to tell in just one sitting. There is, however, another way.” She leaned across the table toward me. Her eyes came alive, the dullness of age burned away like morning fog on a sunny day. “If you’re willing.”
“Sure, I guess,” I said hesitantly.
“It’s called The Sharing, and it’s a bit overwhelming. You might even feel ill afterward. But I think you’ll learn something that will surprise you.”
I nodded nervously. “Let’s do it. I can take it.”
“A girl after my own heart,” the elf said, smiling. The Ancient One turned to the elf guide. Be gone, she snapped. I’ll summon you when I’m done. He turned and sprinted out the door, slamming it behind him. “Annoying things, other elves can be,” the Ancient One mumbled. “So afraid of anything outside their little bubble. All they want to do is watch the world.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, I suppose I should explain. The Sharing can wait.” The Ancient One closed her eyes, raised her hands above her head, and then moved them in opposite directions, in a circular motion, bringing them together at her waist to complete a circle. The air shimmered, like heat on a desert highway, and suddenly there was a picture, slowly coming into focus. I was looking at Santa, my father, Mr. Winters, and the other Defenders gathered around the table. They were talking, but I couldn’t hear them. Santa glanced up, nodded toward us, and turned back to the discussion. Mr. Winters noticed and looked in the same direction. But his eyes couldn’t fix on anything. He couldn’t see us! “This is a portal,” the Ancient One explained. “You see them clearly, yes?”
“Like I’m looking through a window.”
“Remarkable,” she said quietly. “The fact that you can see tells us you’re special. Besides you, only Santa can.”
“But what do you use it for?”
“Many things. Have you ever wondered how Santa fits all the toys for all the world’s children into his sleigh?”
“Yes! All kids wonder that.”
“He doesn’t. Elves deliver a constant stream of toys through a portal all the way through Christmas morning. The Defenders slow time, and we provide the toys.”
“Awesome!”
“We elves also can travel through a portal to anywhere we choose. But we’re only supposed to watch, not travel, not meddle in human affairs.” She waved her hand, and the portal disappeared. “But I wanted more. I wanted to really see what we were watching. So I left.”
“You ran away?”
“You can see for yourself in The Sharing.” The Ancient One moved her chair close, facing me, our knees touching. “Are you ready, my child?” I nodded solemnly. She put out her hands, palms up. I placed my hands in hers. The skin was cool but rough with time and wear. “Close your eyes,” she ordered. My body trembled. I braced for the unknown. The elf’s hands suddenly clamped on mine so hard I gasped in pain. I tried to pull away, but she held them tighter and tighter. I thought she might crush the bones in my fingers. How could she be so strong? Before I could tell her she was hurting me, there was a flash of light. My eyes were still closed, so it must have been in my mind.
Then a picture formed of a young female elf, tall and beautiful and full of life. It was the Ancient One, a long, long time ago. I watched her leave the elf kingdom and explore the world, country after country, city after city, for years and years. I watched her live among humans, work among them, pass herself off as one of them. And though she knew it was foolish, I saw her fall in love with a handsome man. And I watched her marry that man and have two daughters, the girls living long lives, thanks to their elf blood.
But eventually, as they grew old and she didn’t, the elf had to return to her world. She built herself a house on the edge of the ice kingdom and re-created a home like the one she’d had with her husband and daughters. Through the portals she watched her grandchildren, then her great-grandchildren, and her great-great-grandchildren, and on and on, until at last she saw a little girl with red hair, and a father and a mother who were special and powerful and filled with love they showered on their precious child.
I saw the father and the young girl playing in the snow, and then I heard the voice of the mother calling from inside. That’s when I realized I was watching myself! My mother appeared at the front door, hands on her hips, looking delicate and beautiful. “Come inside, Carol!” she yelled. I could see it now, the pale skin that almost glowed, a slight point to her ears, blue eyes of ice, and hair that was blond but looked almost radiant white when the light hit it. She was the spitting image of a young Noelle. My mother was part elf. I was part elf!
And then I awoke, sprawled on the couch, my head lying in the lap of the Ancient One, who stroked my hair and looked down at me, tears in her eyes. I smiled at her. “So you’re my great-great-great-something-grandmother?”
She wiped away the tears and kissed my forehead. “I am indeed, my sweet.”
“Does Dad know?”
She nodded to the chair next
to the fire. My father sat watching us, and tears filled his eyes, too. “I do now,” he said.
“I sent for your father once we were done with The Sharing. You were out for a good while. How do you feel?”
“Hungry.” I realized I was starving. Light streamed through the windows. I had been there all night!
“My, my, you are a strong one.” The old elf helped me up. I was woozy and had to grab the arm of the couch to steady myself. The Ancient One and I made our way to the table, which was filled with bacon and eggs and sausage and biscuits. The elf spooned huge helpings of everything onto my plate and poured me a tall glass of milk. She looked at my father, then at me, and smiled. Once again, tears gathered in her ancient blue eyes.
“It’s truly a miracle,” she said. “I’m sharing a meal with my family. I never thought I’d live to see the day. Now eat!”
“Thank you …” I hesitated, not sure what to call the Ancient One. Yes, she was my grandmother, sort of, but so far removed that it seemed strange to call her that. But I could think of nothing else, and she was family, so I said, “Thank you … Grandmother.” My father smiled, and the Ancient One’s eyes lit up and I knew I’d made the right choice. Grandmother hugged me tightly.
CHAPTER 10
The Cane Mutiny
Christmas Carol & the Defenders of Claus Page 10
