Krampus: The Yule Lord (26 page)

“Vernon,” Isabel said. “Quit your bellyaching. You’ve been going on about it nonstop. Starting to get on everybody’s nerves.”

“Yes, well, you’re not the one who was shoved down the side of a mountain. Now were you?”

“You didn’t fall down no mountain. You got stuck up in a tree.” She laughed. “Looked just like a treed coon.”

Vernon gave her a thunderous scowl, shook his head, and walked away. “One day I’m gonna wake up from this goddamn nightmare. One day, and it can’t be too soon.”

Krampus dropped the sack in the middle of the room. “All of you . . . here to me.” He held the spear out. “I have it!” The Shawnee gathered round. “The day we have waited centuries for is at hand. Today is the day I face Baldr. Today is the day I make him pay for all his crimes!”

He looked from face to face, eyes gleaming. “Let me tell you why you must never make the same mistake as I and pity this monster. Why he must be put down like some rabid dog.”

Krampus sat a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Jesse, I told you of his guise, his worship of Saint Nicholas, but there was no end to his deceit. Let me finish the tale, let me share with you the rest of the story.”

Jesse shook his head. “Can’t really stop you, now can I?”

The Yule Lord’s brow furrowed and Jesse thought he might’ve overstepped, then slowly a smile crept across Krampus’s face. “No . . . no, you can’t. No one can. Not anymore. This story will be told . . . told again and again, until the whole world knows the truth behind the lie.”

Krampus clutched the spear in both hands. “His is a story of betrayal, of a foul creature having no conscience, no regard for anything except his own blind ambitions. For even after I brought him into my own house, even after I showed him brotherhood, after all my charity, still he betrayed me, betrayed all Asgard.” Krampus’s eyes glowed. “He stole everything from me, locked me away in his dungeon. Was that enough for him? No. He wanted more, wanted my name erased from the land. He thought he could make them forget . . . forget Yule and the Yule Lord.” Krampus laughed. “But he underestimated my great spirit, and even into the 1400s, there were those who still held to the old traditions, still paid me tribute.

“This did not sit well with our beloved Baldr. He decided something should be done. Come that Christmas, he had me shackled and carried from the fortress, set upon a throne of rotting vegetables atop a cart drawn by goats. He bound a pitchfork to my arm and draped a necklace of goat tongues about my neck. He dressed his slaves in coats of filthy fur, wearing horned masks and chains. They paraded me along the countryside and through the towns and villages, dancing and prancing, hissing and growling like silly beasts, ridiculing me and all I stood for. And Baldr, in his guise of Saint Nicholas, would cry out, ‘Behold, it is the devil, Krampus. Not but a silly old fart.’ The villagers would throw clod and manure, while the children would prod me with sticks. I was too weak and frail to do more than hang my head. He went further, knowing well the power of lies. He printed posters that portrayed me, the great Yule Lord, as nothing more than a wicked imp, an evil buffoon, and pasted them across the land. Year after year this continued and he promised no end unless . . . unless I should reveal the secret of the sack.

“But it did stop, sometime around the early 1500s, I would guess, hard to say as by then I was losing any sense of the passing years. Just when I thought he had forgotten about me, he showed up in front of my cell. Only I did not recognize him, not at first. Gone was the guise of the lean, pious saint, what stood before me now was a robust figure, one dressed in some ridiculous costume. He was cloaked in a floor-length cape over a robe, all crimson velvet trimmed in white fur, a wide black belt strapped across his middle and a tall, pointed cap dotted with golden stars atop his head. His hair and beard had grown so full and long as to hide even his shoulders. He looked as some demented wizard.

“He introduced himself as Father Christmas, told me that he had mastered Loki’s sack and had no more need of the devil . . . that it was time for Krampus to be utterly forgotten. He had his servants bind me and set me in his sleigh. He flew me across the great ocean to the newly discovered continent of America, into the deepest, darkest mountains, and chained me in a cave far below the rocks, where none would ever find me, left me there to rot away.”

Krampus slowly shook his head. “But I did not rot away. No, for I sang my song to the forest and the forest listened.” He gestured to the Shawnee. “The great Shawnee people found me and saw to my needs. And I waited. Sat there for five hundred years waiting for one thing. The day I would be free, the day I would kill Baldr.”

Krampus spoke directly to Jesse. “And every one of those days I pondered the how of it. How I would escape, how I would kill a being that could not be killed. As time passed and the Europeans marched across the Americas, I had my Belsnickels bring me newspapers and books, and from these I kept up with his doings, watched as his fraud spread across the globe. I made charts, mapped and plotted his course until I came to understand his method, his path. And finally all lined up and when he came at last to Goodhope, I was
ready.
Yes . . . indeed.

“And now I am ready to end it, to end his reign of lies. Ready to take back what is
mine
!”

Krampus pointed the spear heavenward and howled. The Shawnee threw back their heads and added their voices, and then the wolves joined in. The ghoulish, unearthly sound echoed to the rafters of the old church, making the hair on the back of Jesse’s neck stand on end. Chet, the General, and Vernon looked on miserably.

Jesse couldn’t control a shudder.
Are we really going to kill Santa Claus?

K
RAMPUS STOOD OVER
Loki’s sack, the Belsnickels forming a circle around him.
Nine hearts beating my blood, nine is the magical number.
I have never felt so alive.

He inspected his warriors. The Shawnee armed with knives, pistols, and spears, ever proud and dependable, their skin stained pitch, wearing horns and masks and furry hides, all in honor of him. Isabel, his brave little lion, carrying a shotgun and managing to look fierce even while wearing that ridiculous cap. Vernon held one of the new machine weapons and appeared glum as always, but not as miserable as the two criminals. Jesse stood there without shoes, his pants and shirt torn and covered in his own blood. Yet the song-maker appeared almost eager, though Krampus was sure it was not for the adventure ahead but for the man he called Dillard. There was something about Jesse’s spirit that Krampus liked, his gall, perhaps that glint of mischief in his eyes when he smiled. He hoped the young man would return alive, but there could be no guarantees. Krampus had never been to Baldr’s castle, had no idea what lay in wait. Would Baldr be expecting them? Most likely. There could be no telling what tricks and traps he might have in store. But would Baldr know about the spear? Krampus tightened his grip on the weapon.
No. That will be quite the surprise.

Krampus set eyes on Jesse, Chet, and the General. “I command you to raise your hands.” All three obeyed. “My blood runs in your veins. I am your master. I command you to do your utmost to follow my will, to stay by my side, to protect me at all cost, even if it should cost your life to do so. Now swear it.”

They did, they had no choice.

“Good,” Krampus said and handed Chet and the General each a handgun. He handed Jesse a pistol and his rifle.

“It is time to go.”

“Where?” Vernon asked.

“Spain.”

“Spain?” Jesse said and glanced about at the others, but they looked equally perplexed. “Spain?”

“Yes, to Baldr’s castle. Where did you think he lived? The North Pole?” Krampus scoffed. “How easily people fall for his lies. Our jolly old elf has no temperament for the Arctic. He has lived on the coast where the warm sea blows, has lived there for centuries. But not after today, not after we burn it to the ground.”

“That’s a pretty long walk,” Jesse said.

Krampus smiled. “Always with the jests, you. We do not walk.” He nodded toward the sack. “I will open a door and we will travel through the sack.”

It took them a moment, some longer than others. But he saw most of them understood.

“It will be night there and darkness is our friend. I will send you through one by one, and then will follow, and together we will destroy all that is his. He may have guards: elves, beasts, things I cannot know. If they spot you, kill them. Show no mercy, for none will be shown for you. Failure means death for us all, as there can be no retreat, for the sack will have to remain behind.”

They all stared at the sack.
Yes,
there shall be no quarter from Baldr, not this time.
Krampus took in a deep breath.
I am ready. One way or another I am ready for this to be done.
Krampus picked up the sack, pulled out a bottle of mead, broke off the wax, and drank deep. He wiped his arm across his lips and offered the bottle. The Belsnickels passed it around.

He held the sack open, stared down into its shadowy depths.
Time to open the door.
Only he didn’t know to where. He’d never been to the castle. He needed an object, something to fix on, to direct the sack to, something that wouldn’t put them in the line of danger, wouldn’t give them away.

“There a plan on getting back?” Jesse asked.

“We will fly back in the sleigh,” Krampus replied and realized almost at once that the sleigh was his answer.
Yes.
I will have the sack find the sleigh. The old one, the one he brought me to the Americas in. It would most likely be in the stables, which would be a good place to begin.
He wondered if the sleigh even still existed.
There is but one way to find out.

He closed his eyes, connected with the sack, could feel its pulse. It was so easy now that he had his strength, almost effortless. He thought of the ancient sleigh, pictured it in his mind, and the sack responded. He saw the sky and ocean streak by, a fortification, just a glimpse, but enough to see this was not a place of candy canes and snowmen, but instead imposing walls of stately white stone.
There it is . . . the sleigh!
Krampus opened his eyes. “The door is open.”

Krampus left the circle, walked over to where the two wolves lay side by side. He squatted, stroked their thick pelts. “Geri, Freki, we must go now. Guard the sack. Let none take it. If you smell him coming, then we have failed.” Geri let out a low whine. “It is my wish that you should then tear the sack to shreds. Understand?” Freki barked.

Krampus stood, stared at the sack. All was in play. He picked up the spear, ran his finger along the edge of the blade, testing its sharpness for the hundredth time, took in a deep breath.
It is time to take back that which is mine.

S
ANTA
C
LAUS REMOVED
a small, leather-bound book from the shelf in his study, carefully sat it upon his desk, and touched the mark inlaid upon its cover. He caressed the frayed edges and cracked binding, opened the book, carefully turning the brittle parchment until he reached a crude ink drawing of a thin, stern-faced, bearded man holding a shepherd’s hook. Santa Claus ran his finger across the rough parchment, lightly tracing the inscription below.
“Charity unto others brings its own reward,”
he whispered.

He looked out from his window, out across the Mediterranean Sea. The last vestiges of sunlight glittering across the waves. He closed his eyes, inhaled the warm, salty air, and made himself remember, remember the flame as his prison burned, remember the screams as Ragnarok consumed all in Hel, all in Asgard, remember his wife’s very soul burning before his eyes.

“The flame licked my flesh,”
he whispered, talking to the book.
“But there came no end, no relief from my torment. I watched until all was consumed, until I stood alone, the only soul amongst a world turned to ash and blackened bone.

“God, the One God above all, sent down her angels, the Valkyries, and they carried me away to Midgard, left me naked to roam the earth. For years I wandered aimlessly. I forewent food and drink, bore the elements, all in the hope I would perish. Even threw myself from great cliffs, all in vain, for my flesh would not die.

“Krampus found me, forced me into servitude—me, the son of Odin, a slave to a low-cast demon. I did not care, did not feel. Hollow of heart and soul, I came to believe this to be my fate, my penance, that I had been spared to bear torment not just for my own vanity and arrogance, but for that of all my forebears.

“I was lost, dead in all but flesh.”
He gently closed the book and clutched it to his chest. “
Your words, Saint Nicholas, your words found my soul, reminding me of the days before Ragnarok, before Hel, before all the scheming, treachery, and petty games of the gods. Of a time when I roamed the land, charitable and gracious, seeking the simple joy of raising the spirits of the downtrodden. The only time I ever truly knew happiness.”

“I thought I would find you here.”

Santa turned.

A thin woman with flowing white hair and ageless eyes entered the room. She wore a dress of dark crimson trimmed in gold. She took the book from him, sat it back upon the shelf. “You need not the teachings of a dead saint to show you what is in your heart.”

“Sometimes I forget,” Santa replied. “The play of gods makes one yearn for a simpler time.”

She touched his hand. “Your charity is not to please the gods. It is your nature.”

“True. I know no joy greater than spreading hope and cheer. But do I also enjoy hearing my name in song, seeing my image celebrated in every corner of this earth? Yes. I must admit I crave such, that my heart will not be content until everyone sings my songs.”

“Charity is your vanity. So what of it? No one has put it upon you to be a saint. Charity is its own nobility, regardless of purpose.”