“Why didn’t you try to meet us?” I asked. “Your grandchildren, I mean. Me.”
Grandmother and I sat on her front porch watching the elves scurry around the ice kingdom, shuttling back and forth to the toy factory for the last-minute Christmas push. I’d been visiting her every evening after spending the week training with Dad, hanging out in Santa’s house being spoiled by Mrs. Claus, and visiting the toy factory—which, I have to say, was awesome! There were toys as far as the eye could see, elves hammering and drilling and gluing and whatever else you need to do to make toys, which were added to the ones Santa bought from his suppliers. But as awesome as it was to see all of that, I most enjoyed my time with the Ancient One. Having a grandmother was a new experience for me, a wonderful experience. As sad as it made me to think about it, I now understood better how much Ramon’s abuela meant to him.
Grandmother talked of her life and told me stories about the man she married, my great-great-great-whatever-grandfather. She still missed him. “Think about how you miss your mother,” she said. “And how you missed your father. Now multiply that by one hundred, losing grandchild after grandchild after grandchild. It would have been more than I could bear. That’s why I stayed away.”
“But won’t you lose me?”
She gave me a sad smile. “You are wise for your years, Carol. Yes, there’s always that chance. But I am very old. Even elves die. I suspect I may be gone before you.”
“But then I will be losing you!”
“That’s the way of the world, I’m afraid. We all suffer loss. It’s how well we love those in our lives while they’re around that matters.”
We talked for hours, Grandmother asking about school, about Mr. Winters, about my powers, about Amelia, who she said “sounds wonderful. Always treasure a friend.” And, naturally, she asked about my uncle. She frowned whenever I spoke of him and his behavior. But I tried to paint a rosier picture. After all, he wasn’t obligated to take care of me, but he had. He was my blood, and I loved him.
The day she asked about him, it occurred to me that it was the Friday before I normally would be leaving school for Christmas vacation, a day my uncle, not Gus, would have come to get me. I wondered if Uncle Christopher missed picking me up from school every Friday. Maybe he secretly cherished those moments we spent together, but he just wasn’t good at showing his emotions, his chiseled exterior hiding a tender heart. I wanted to believe that.
“Can we see what he’s doing?” I asked. “Can you make a portal?”
“They are not to be created lightly,” Grandmother said. “And, anyway, I suspect you are perfectly capable of making one yourself. When I showed you my memories, the elf abilities—if you didn’t already possess them—were passed to you.”
“Holy moly! You mean I can see anything? Anywhere?”
“Yes, you can also focus on someone you know and a portal will open to wherever they are.”
“So cool!”
“You may try it, but you must not abuse the privilege.”
“How do I do it?”
“Just focus as hard as you can on what you want to see and make a circle with your hands, like this.” She demonstrated.
I nodded and closed my eyes, bringing up an image of my uncle hunched over his desk, as I’d seen him countless times. I concentrated all my energies on his existence. I kept my eyes closed, my hands straight up above my head, making a large circle by extending them outward. I grasped the web of time and space. I felt a ripple in the air. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of my uncle. The image was shaky but then crystallized. He was at his factory, sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair and holding the polished black rock with the International Toy logo engraved on it, rubbing the stone absentmindedly. Suddenly, he turned as if someone had called his name, and then the image collapsed. I’d lost it.
“That was curious,” Grandmother said.
“What?”
“The way the portal dissolved. I’ve never seen that happen.”
“Maybe I lost concentration,” I suggested. “Or maybe it’s because I’m mostly human.”
“Perhaps.” She said nothing more, adrift in thought.
“Can I try my school?”
“Yes, but this is the last one for now.”
“OK.” I repeated the procedure, concentrating on the classroom in which I’d spent so many hours, concentrating on my best friend. The portal was strong this time and the image clear. Amelia, Vincent Cato, and my other classmates stared glumly at a teacher I recognized as Old Mole Nose. No wonder everyone looked miserable. My chair was unoccupied, but a large red-and-green ribbon with a photograph of me in the center hung from the seat back. On my desk sat a single candy cane and a placard that read in big red letters, WE MISS YOU, CHRISTMAS CAROL. All the kids had signed it—even Vincent! Next to Amelia’s signature she had written the sweet English phrase her father put at the end of his letters to her: “I will love you much eternity. Hugs and kisses and butterfly wishes.” Amelia looked at the empty chair and sighed. She turned away like she might cry. My eyes welled up. I felt awful not being able to tell her I was safe and happy, as happy as I’d ever been. I wanted to tell her that Santa Claus was real and wonderful, and the elves were magical and kind, and weird Mr. Winters was so much more than we ever imagined. But the image dissolved. I wiped away tears.
“That’s enough for now, dear,” Grandmother said quietly.
I nodded. It certainly was.
“Tell me about the Masked Man,” Grandmother said. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and Santa’s house and the elves’ ice kingdom were in a frenzy. But I could do nothing. I wasn’t allowed to go with the Defenders. I knew zilch about making toys. I had no clue about planning or toy distribution or how to best travel the world in a single night. Basically, I was just in everyone’s way. So I figured I may as well hang out with someone else who also seemed to be forgotten. (“The Ancient One and the Gifted One are the Useless Ones,” Grandmother joked.)
“I don’t like to think about him,” I answered.
“I know, my sweet, but I want to learn about his power, and who knows which one of us might be called upon to fight him. I have this terrible feeling he’s planning something.”
I trembled at the thought. “He flew some kind of machine. And he held a long stick.”
“A staff, you mean?”
“I guess. Like a wizard. He aimed it at Ramon and knocked him out of the sky.”
“I suspect this Masked Man was once a Defender, or has similar powers,” Grandmother said. “And I believe he discovered something I thought only elves knew. Even most of them are unaware of it.”
“What?”
Grandmother leaned in close. “I suspect his staff is made from the wood of the giant fir trees in the Crystal Forest, which is in a remote part of the North Pole. That was the home of a race of elves long gone from this earth. But the forest remains, and the trees hold remnants of their ancient magic.”
“But how would he know that?”
“There have been others like me, elves who wandered off to explore the world. Some never returned. Perhaps the Masked Man met one, and the elf shared the secret.”
“But what does the rod do?”
“It’s an amplifier. For one with power, it concentrates that power and magnifies it tenfold.” The thought made me shudder. Imagine a Defender’s power times ten. No wonder Ramon stood no chance. No wonder Santa and Mr. Winters made us flee that awful day. “And because the staff is elfin in nature,” Grandmother continued, “he would be able to make portals or do anything elves can.”
She stood up slowly from the chair next to the fire, her bones creaking. She crossed the room to a closed door I’d never seen her open. She pulled a skeleton key from a pocket in her robe and turned the lock. The door swung open, its hinges groaning. She reached into the dark closet and removed a burlap sack, which was tied shut with twine. She returned slowly to her chair and sat down, breathing hard.
�
�What is that?” I asked.
“A way to fight back,” she answered and pulled out what looked like a giant candy cane. It was about three feet long, curved at the end just like a walking cane, but painted with red and white stripes. She rapped her knuckles lightly on the cane, which was about as thick as the handle of a baseball bat.
“Wood?” I asked.
“Made from a fir tree in the Crystal Forest, which I explored when I left the North Pole. I carved it into this shape to keep it hidden. No one would question a wooden cane. I kept it with me through my travels.”
“But why did you paint it like a candy cane?”
Grandmother laughed. “I’m a smart aleck, I suppose. I did that when I returned here. You have noticed I live at the North Pole, right? Where it always seems to be Christmas?” She laughed again. “Looks like just another holiday decoration. It also allows me to more easily give it to you. If I handed you a weapon, what would your father say? Or Santa?”
“That I couldn’t have it. That I’m not ready.”
“Exactly. But if the crazy, old elf lady gave a wooden candy cane to the girl who loves Christmas, no one would think twice about it.” She grinned, mischief dancing in her eyes.
I smiled as she passed me the cane. When it touched my hand, I swear I felt the wood pulse, as if it were a living organism and I could feel its heartbeat. There was even a hum, like electricity, though I wondered if that was just in my mind, the power coursing through me. “How does it work?” I asked, turning it over in my hands. The cane was as smooth as Santa’s polished hardwood floors.
“Your father’s teaching you to focus your powers, correct?” Grandmother asked. I nodded. “Just hold the cane in front of you as you do, and it will collect the power. Then thrust the cane in the direction you want to release that power, like one of those pulses you destroyed Santa’s house with.” She laughed, never seeming to tire of the fact that I had blown up that tree. I got the strong impression that she was what Gus always liked to call me: “Ornery.” Maybe I got my orneriness from her.
The cane felt light in my hand, and just as I’d come so alive on the Rockefeller Center ice, I felt vibrant and powerful with the wooden staff in my grip. I twirled the cane slowly, standing so I didn’t bop Grandmother on the nose. The cane bounced and quivered in my hand. I twirled it faster and faster, like a majorette would a baton, something I’d never tried in my life. I flipped it from hand to hand, up in the air, catching it perfectly in mid-spin. I threw it behind my back and caught it with my opposite hand. It seemed to have a life of its own.
Grandmother watched and shook her head. “You’re some piece of work, Carol.”
I smiled and sat back down, laying the cane across my lap and feeling more than a little pleased with myself. Just holding it made me happy. I decided that if Grandmother was giving it to me to keep, the cane would never leave my sight. “They should let me go with them,” I said suddenly. I was about to burst, my body exploding with energy. “I’m soooooo ready.” It was like watching someone else say the words. I never say things like that.
Grandmother studied me closely. “Maybe,” she said. “But, Carol, my sweet, we are never truly ready for our greatest tests. You can prepare and prepare and prepare, and then when you’re in the thick of it, everything changes. And you have to deal with something you never imagined in a million years.”
I nodded, listening to the words but not fully absorbing them. The cane pulsed in my hand. “I’m ready,” I repeated, never more sure of anything in my life. I wanted to fight, to protect Santa and the Defenders, to defeat the evil man who had destroyed my friend and taken my father from me. I no longer felt like a misfit, at last finding the place where I belonged, where I mattered. I was beginning to understand the power buried deep within me and what I was capable of. But I should have listened to Grandmother more closely. I should have heeded her words. Perhaps then I would have been better prepared for what was about to happen.
CHAPTER 11
The Gathering
OK, I’ll admit it. I pouted most of the day on Christmas Eve. Pretty unattractive, I know, but I couldn’t help myself. Gifted One, wise beyond my years, magically powerful, part elf, blah-blah-blah, but I’m still just a twelve-year-old girl. And, hey, we can be moody.
Mrs. Claus tried her best. I told her about my Christmas Eve tradition: Gus would always stop by the house before he’d leave to visit his own family, and we’d bake Christmas cookies and a holiday cake together, listening to Christmas carols, licking the batter off the spoon and then stuffing ourselves with the sweet treats. Uncle Christopher would even try a cookie—just one, of course—and would compliment the chefs before retreating to his study while his staff prepared Christmas Eve dinner. Mrs. Claus and I baked cookies, and it was enjoyable enough—I mean, how can a kid NOT love baking cookies in Santa’s house—but I was distracted.
I was so disappointed that Santa and the Defenders were going to leave me behind that night. I guess I thought maybe things had changed. I had trained hard with Dad, getting stronger every day, learning to focus my powers. I could feel those threads of time and space and could control them. I stopped time almost as well as Dad did, and my “North Pulses” were as good, maybe better. (He didn’t like to admit it; I think it hurt his pride.) And that was without using the cane Grandmother had given me. I kept that a secret.
“What is that thing?” Dad asked. He reached for it, but I jerked away. I didn’t want him touching the cane and maybe feeling its power and taking it from me. He gave me a puzzled look.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I laughed, as if I were playing keep-away. I tossed it from hand to hand. “Something Grandmother gave me because she knows how much I love Christmas.”
He nodded but gave me a last curious glance. Having not been around for the past seven years of my life, he couldn’t tell when I was hiding something. Boy, was I glad of that, because on my way home from my visit with Grandmother after she’d given me the cane, I got a taste of its true power.
I stopped in the field between the reindeer barn and the forest that led to the ice kingdom. I made sure no one was watching. Then I waved my hand through the air as Dad had taught me, gathering power. I held the cane in front of me, directing my energies into the piece of striped wood. A lone pine tree stood in the middle of the field, and I thrust the point of the cane in the tree’s direction. First came the noise, like a violent crack of lightning as electricity rips through the sky. Then that poor tree just exploded into a thousand bits of needle and twig and bark. Holy moly! I heard shouts in the distance, and I ran and hid behind the barn until the coast was clear. Later that night I heard talk among the Defenders about the “strange lightning strike” that blew up the tree. I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I caught Dad and Mr. Winters watching me curiously. Surely they had sensed the surge of Defender power. But thankfully no one said anything.
Anyway, back to the pouting. I’m really quite skilled at it. Though my uncle had always been just as skilled at ignoring me. But Gus and the rest of the staff? Not so much. I managed to get my way most of the time or scam some ice cream out of Gus if I was “in a mood.” Dad, however, was more like my uncle. “Quit being a baby, Carol,” he told me after I’d begged him, yet again, to let me go and then crossed my arms and stomped when he refused. (I’m not proud of myself.)
“Grandmother thinks the Masked Man’s going to attack,” I said. “And I can help.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not about to take the chance of something happening to you. I would never forgive myself.”
“And what if something happens to you and I could have stopped it? How do you think I’ll feel?”
He pulled me into a hug. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Carol.”
“It did before.”
“But this time I’m not alone. When the Defenders work together, they’re a powerful team. And there’s just one of him.”
“He has at least two Defenders working for him, plus the
magic staff Grandmother told us about!”
“We can handle it,” Dad said firmly. “Now please, Carol, I have to prepare for tonight.” I nodded, trying to pull in my lower lip, at least till he was out of sight.
And then I was the Useless One again. I didn’t visit Grandmother because I would see her that night. She had invited me to something called The Gathering. So after I finished baking cookies, I sat on the front porch in full Pout Mode, watching the comings and goings of elves and Defenders and Santa and Mrs. Claus. The elves polished Santa’s sleigh till it shone like a cherry red sports car. The reindeer were brushed and exercised and fed. The Defenders checked the deer they would be riding, chatting as they prepared for the big night. Santa oversaw it all, and Mrs. Claus darted from elf to Defender to me to Santa, offering hot chocolate and the cookies we’d baked. She also snuck me homemade vanilla ice cream made from pristine North Pole snow (which, at least for a few minutes, took me out of Pout Mode).
Bored, I wandered over to the toy factory after lunch and was shocked by the sight. Every elf in the ice kingdom, except for the few tending to the reindeer, must have been there. It was a madhouse. Toys were being sent through a giant contraption that had a long conveyor belt, claw arms, and metal prongs sticking out every which way. It sort of looked like an assembly line at a car factory. Down the conveyor belt the toys would go. Different claws grabbed different size gifts, placing them on a flat metal surface onto which large pieces of colorful wrapping paper were slid. Metal bars shot up and pushed the wrapping paper around the gifts. Then another arm, basically a giant tape dispenser, sealed each package. The wrapped package slid to the ribbon station, and bows were slapped on at lightning speed. Next was the labeling station where an elf sat with a master list, typing in names as each gift slid by, the machine spitting out labels. Another elf double-checked each label against his own list, then applied it to the gift. From there each present was placed in giant rolling bins marked by town, country, and continent. The process was a wonder to behold.
Christmas Carol & the Defenders of Claus Page 11
