by Rachel Ford
Jack nodded, and Klaus hesitated. Then, he shrugged. “Well, well, I’m sure it will be fine. Come, follow me, my friends.”
He led them through gingerbread halls, over candied floors and under garlands of berries and pine boughs. “You are the first visitors to Pleasant Vale in…oh, five hundred years at least. Long before my time.”
“Really?” Ceinwen asked.
“Oh yes. No one has come here since…” He threw a glance over his shoulder, toward Karag. “Well, I suppose we don’t need to get into all that. It was a very long time ago.”
The giant glowered down at the little, cherubic-faced man, who laughed apprehensively. “You are not…I suppose I should have asked before. But you’re not here on behalf of the Obsidian Isles, are you?”
Jack was about to snap that of course they weren’t when three responses popped into his mind.
Have no fear, Good Klaus. Our business has nothing whatever to do with the Obsidian Isles, and Karag here has pledged himself to my cause. He will be no threat to you.
No. But I’m certain the Isles would pay handsomely to know how we got here. Do you think your master would pay as well to keep that intel to ourselves?
And,
We are. Your days of candy-coated excess are numbered.
The last two options seemed the most likely to be amusing, but Jack opted for the first anyway. He just wanted to get out of here. Nothing else mattered.
Klaus heard the words with a happy little laugh and bobbed his head. Then he prattled on about how relieved he was, and how he bore no ill will to anyone from that place. “It happened so long ago, didn’t it? I know some still harbor the old resentments, but it seems to me that that goes against the spirit of this place, doesn’t it?”
Jack endured a long spiel about forgiveness and new beginnings until they finally reached a huge private office.
The door stood open, revealing the great room, a long desk, and a tall, round, bespectacled man sitting on the opposite side of the desk, half-hidden behind a stack of books. Klaus knocked on the doorframe and called in a singsong voice, “Mayor Cristobal?”
The other man started. A book flew up in one direction, and a pair of spectacles went in the other. “Good heavens,” the mayor cried. Then, standing and laughing a bit sheepishly as he retrieved his glasses, he said, “You startled me, Klaus. I…oh.” He’d just pushed the glasses onto the bridge of his nose and stared with an undisguised measure of surprise at Jack and his group. “Strangers?”
Klaus nodded. “Indeed, Mayor.”
“But…how is that possible?”
Jack snorted and was about to make a snide comment about it being a stupid videogame. But Migli intervened. “A strange wind caught our vessel at sea, Mayor, and brought us here during the night.”
“Really? How unusual. How remarkable! You know, I think you’re the first visitors we’ve had in Pleasant Vale in five hundred years? No one’s been here since…” He cut off, the same way Klaus had done, glancing at Karag. “Well, no sense getting into that, I suppose. Ancient history and all.”
“Exactly,” Jack said, a little brusquely. He knew there was some kind of backstory between Karag’s people and these ones, that the game intended for him to tease out a little at a time. But Jack didn’t care what the giants had done to the residents of Pleasant Vale, or what these people had done to the giants. He didn’t care about fictitious, five-hundred-year-old feuds between made up races. He cared about getting off the island, so he could finish the game, and get back to the real world. “We’re here, Mayor, because our raft is stuck in ice. We need help dislodging it, and then we’ll be out of your hair for good.”
“Oh,” the old man exclaimed, throwing his hands up, “don’t worry about that, my friends. We are pleased to have you here. Delighted.
“Oh, where are my manners? You must forgive me. I’m just so flustered to see newcomers. Such an unusual business. But please, take a seat. And can we get you anything? Tea? Hot chocolate? Peppermint schnapps? Or, perhaps you’d like something to eat?” He started to list off Christmas cookies of every variety.
Arath agreed that he would like cookies, and schnapps.
Jack raised a hand to interrupt. “We’re not here to eat, Mayor. Though I thank you. We just need to get off the island.”
“Are you sure?” Cristobal seemed positively disappointed. “You don’t want anything? Nothing at all?”
“Actually,” the ranger started, “I wouldn’t mind –”
“Quite sure,” Jack said, firmly.
“Oh.” The mayor seated himself, moving some of his books so that they could maintain eye contact. “Well, of course, we would be delighted to help you, Mister…” He frowned. “I don’t believe I caught your name, actually.”
So Jack sighed and introduced himself and his party. Both Cristobal and Klaus declared themselves delighted – positively delighted! – to make their acquaintances. All but Karag’s, for whom they reserved a lukewarm, “Charmed, I’m sure.”
“The raft…” Jack reminded him. “You were saying you could help me.”
“Oh yes, of course. The raft. I’m afraid you misheard me, Friend Jack. I said we would be delighted to help you if we could. But I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. You see…” He glanced at Karag. “Well, about five hundred years ago, we were engaged in a terrible war with a brutal enemy.”
The giant snorted indignantly.
Mayor Cristobal raised a hand. “I do not blame anyone now living for it. The past is the past. But it’s true. And we weren’t going to win. They kept sending ships to our shores. Every time we’d repel one invasion, we’d have to fend off five more. It was hopeless.
“So we devised a plan, the mayor of our city at the time and old Father Winter who lives far to the north of Pleasant Vale. We called down the north winds, and they came in the night. Lifted the entire island off its foundations, and carried it far away, where the enemy could never find us. And the winds roil the seas in every direction around us, so no one can find us.”
“Cowardice,” Karag said. “Pure cowardice.”
Cristobal seemed for half a moment taken aback by the comment. He flushed a shade redder, somehow. Then, he turned to Jack. “In truth, I do not know how you got here at all. It must be by some friendly wind with a mind of its own.
“But the winds that prevent ships from arriving also prevent vessels from departing. So you see, I would help you if I could. But there is nothing any of us can do. You are – well, stuck here.”
Jack started to protest that he couldn’t be stuck here, that he had to get home. Cristobal declared himself entirely sympathetic, and protested again that he wished he could help. “But there is nothing I can do, my friend: the sea is as closed to us as it is you.”
“Father Winter might be able to help,” Klaus put in. Both Jack and the mayor turned to him. He shrugged green-clad shoulders. “He has that sleigh: he might be able to take you by air where you cannot go by sea or land.”
Jack left the mayor’s home scowling. He was headed north, deep into the mountains, looking for someone called Estelle. “She manages Winter’s holdings in the north. She’ll be able to help you,” the obsequious mayor had assured them.
Jack was scowling because he knew what this meant. Aside from the obvious – a long trip in freezing temperatures – it meant runaround. Father Winter was dead. He knew that because he’d run into him on an icy stretch of highway. So getting his hands on the magical sleigh wouldn’t happen until he did whatever Estelle needed done.
Which meant runaround. Probably lots and lots of runaround.
So Jack set his steps northward out of town, his expression colder than any howling wind. They left behind the smell of peppermint and cinnamon, of pine and spiced wine; they left behind the sounds of caroling and the raucous laughter of happy people.
And they trudged off toward a barren, snowy mountainside. Arath started to complain that he was turning into an icicle. “I could go back and re
nt rooms for the party,” he suggested, “though you’d have to lend me the coin, Friend Jack.”
Karag mused that it was an evil wind that brought them to this place, and Migli sang of frozen winters. Er’c and Ceinwen alone of the group seemed unperturbed. “We may yet have the chance to do these poor folk some good,” she said.
And the boy agreed. “It seems providence had a design in our landing here after all.”
“Yeah, well, providence can suck a snow globe,” the ranger snorted.
Jack was about to tell them all to shut up – Karag, for his doom and gloom, Arath for his whining, Er’c and Ceinwen for their damned optimism, and Migli for his gall darned singing – when a flash of fire cut through the gray sky before them.
Everyone stopped suddenly, of one volition. Jack drew his sword. Shimmerfax pawed the ground warily. Er’c conjured up a fireball that blazed in his hands, and Ceinwen and Arath drew their bows. Migli ducked behind a snowbank.
The fire disappeared into the snowy horizon, and then it reappeared, coming closer and closer. Finally, it got near enough that Jack could see what it was: not a streak of fire, but a great, flaming sleigh flying through the air, pulled by jet black serpents. At the reins stood a creature – not a man, and not a beast, but some bizarre amalgamation of the two. It stood on hooves, on hairy legs that looked like they might belong to a giant goat. Then the creature’s body morphed into a manlike shape. It wore a coat of fine fur and blood red fabric, and clutched the reins with human fingers. It stared at Jack with eyes that blazed red, set deep in a pale but otherwise human looking face. Indeed, other than the strange hue of his skin and shade of his eyes, his face looked entirely a man’s – except for the long, terrible horns that rose from the back of his head.
“A demon,” Karag hissed. “I knew it.”
“My gods, what is this?” Ceinwen asked.
“I suggest a tactical retreat,” Arath offered.
Which earned a “Seconded,” from Migli, still crouched behind the snowbank.
But Jack held his ground. The demon guided his serpents to the snow a few meters away and smiled. “Welcome to Pleasant Vale, Travelers.”
Chapter Four
The newcomer introduced himself in cordial, if a little slippery, tones as Krampus, “Lord of the Vale. Before these interlopers got here, anyway.”
Then, he got their names in turn, and glanced them all over one by one. He smiled at Karag. “Now, that’s a sight for sore eyes. It’s been many years since your people plagued the pestilence that inhabits my land.”
He seemed less impressed with Ceinwen, though. He turned up his nose, saying, “Ah, and I see the intervening years has done nothing to rid the elves of their misguided sense of superiority.”
He turned away with a shake of his head, glancing at Arath. He smiled. “A kindred spirit, methinks.”
Er’c and Shimmerfax earned little more than a dismissive snort, but Migli, behind his snowbank, got a smirk. “The stout heart of the dwarves is always a pleasure to behold.”
He saved his final evaluation for Jack, though. “I see darkness in you, but a concerning degree of light, too.
“Tell me, Jack, what are you doing here? What is your purpose?”
Jack had three possible responses open to him.
To be entirely honest, Mister Krampus, I have no idea. A gale wind drove us aground here. We were on our way to distant shores.
I may tell you, so-called lord of these lands. But tell me first what your business with us is.
And,
I will tell you nothing, demon.
He chose the first option, and Krampus nodded. “Yes. That would have been that fool Winter’s doing: some hairbrained last minute attempt to best me. Even in death, you see, he plagues me. The wretch.” He smiled, though, and spread out his hands. “But it might be that he was too cunning for his own good. It might be he didn’t think this through.”
His grin broadened, and he paused for effect. “It might be that bringing you here was his final undoing.”
Jack should have been repulsed at the idea. He knew that. But some part of him did feel a niggling animosity toward the meddling old man who had interrupted his already overlong quest. “I’m listening.”
“I am, as I say, lord of this Vale. My purse is vast, my power great. Tell me, friend: is there something you desire? Some dark and secret wish you would see fulfilled?”
Jack wasn’t sure what to say to that. He stammered out, “Uh…not really.”
“Nothing?” Krampus tilted his head to one side, as if to call the assertion into question. “Nothing at all? Come, you can be honest with me, Jack. What is it you want?
“Elves?” He waved a dismissive hand in Ceinwen’s direction. “Not those kind. Who would? But the worker elves of these parts: they make great slaves. They are crafty, and hard working. I could give you a manor full of slaves, already broken in and willing to do your bidding.
“Or perhaps your tastes run a little more toward entertainment.” He grinned. “What about torture, eh? Those little elves make great sport. Their screams are a delight. If that’s your thing and all, I mean.”
Jack shivered visibly, and Krampus broke off. “But no. There’s too much light in you for that. No slaves, and no torture.
“But there must be something you want, Jack. Something.”
“We do need to get home, Mister Krampus sir,” Arath said.
The goat monster clapped his hands together. “Ah. There it is, then. You are stranded, aren’t you? Winter brought you here, took you from your own lives and everything you know, to use you for his own ends.
“Let me guess…you’re going north to beg his steward for aid, aren’t you? To run around doing her bidding, until your kidnappers finally decide to release you.” Krampus shook his head darkly. “You see what I mean, my friend? He’s a meddler, an interferer, a usurper. It’s why he had to die. It’s why you mustn’t help him.”
“I need to get home,” Jack said.
“Indeed you must. And you shall, Jack. You shall. But not by aiding those who did you wrong.
“I will give you what you want. I will take you home.”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “You will?”
Krampus nodded solemnly. “On my honor, on my life: I will take you home.” Jack was about to celebrate, when the monster continued, “If you will do something for me in return.”
Ceinwen snorted. “He speaks ill of a dying man’s desperate attempt to seek aid, and yet look at him, Jack: he’s no better. For all his talk about Father Winter and Estelle, he will no more return us home unless we do his bidding than they.”
“Spoken like an elf. But no, my moralizing friend, you are quite wrong. Winter and Estelle kidnapped Jack – kidnapped you all. And they will extort services out of you before they will consider returning you.
“I have done you no wrong. I had no part in tearing you from your own lives. I simply offer an exchange of services: two men, in need of each other’s assistance.
“You aid me, Jack, and I will return you and all your friends to your home.”
Jack considered for a long moment. Krampus was a bad guy, obviously. But he had a point. And, what was more, he was right here. Estelle was a day’s walk away, through the biting cold and bitter wind.
And then what? Would she make him go out and deliver the presents Father Winter had been trying to deliver? That’s what the ghost had wanted, wasn’t it?
Jack pulled up the game’s player interface, and saved. He’d gotten so used to being in the game world, he often forgot to save these days. But this particular course of action was so questionable, so unlike what he’d do in real life, that it jostled his memory, and he figured he better save. Just in case it all goes to hell.
Then, he returned to the game. “Alright. I’m in. Tell me what you need me to do.”
Krampus took them by sleigh to his lair, deep in the mountains. Jack peered down as the countryside flew by, one part terrified and the other thri
lled. The ebony snakes slithered through the open sky, and the sleigh flew at an absurd speed.
Krampus lived in a dark, gothic style castle. They reached it in minutes by air, and he set down in a stone courtyard. A giant skeleton attendant ran forward, its bones clicking and clacking as the goat monster disembarked.
Jack thrilled a little at the sight of the place and its inhabitants. Usually, he fought creatures like this one. It felt satisfying, somehow, to be on the other side for once.
The skeleton bowed. “Welcome home, Lord Krampus.”
“Thank you, Billy. Take the serpents to their stables, will you? And this one.” He gestured to Shimmerfax. “Feed him well. Then prepare the covert sleigh. My new friend here will need it tonight.”
The skeleton bobbed his head, and Jack shivered at the sight of his vertebrae all moving in conjunction. “Of course, my lord. Your feast awaits.”
“Ah, excellent.” He turned back to Jack and grinned. “Come, Jack, and bring your companions. It will be some hours before the sun sets and your work begins. Let us feast in the meantime.”
Jack’s stomach growled, and he nodded. Arath, meanwhile, said, “Aye, food’ll be most welcome.”
Ceinwen whispered, “We should not trust him, Jack.”
Here, the game gave him three possible responses.
Trust me, Ceinwen. I know what I’m doing.
Did I ask for your opinion, wench?
And,
Question me again, and you’ll taste the back of my hand.
Jack chose the first option, of course. It was one thing to join the side of evil here in Pleasant Vale. It had nothing to do with the main game, and he wasn’t supposed to be here anyway. But he didn’t want to alienate his companions, especially not Ceinwen. She was probably the best member of his team, even if she did get a little overly preachy at times.
She nodded slowly. “I trust you with my life, Jack. I just pray you know what you’re doing this time.”
He felt a little guilty at that, but he nodded and assured her, “I do. Trust me.”
