Whispers and muffled patters of hands connecting in elf-greeting swept through the cave of ice. "Today is the 13th... the 13th... it's our day to celebrate. Not the full power of the solstice, since Santa is suspicious, but the 13th will do. Friday the 13th has power, too."
A hush echoed as thickly as the whispers had, as a burst of cold light erupted at the center of the cavern. It came from a tower of ice carved into a figure as thin as an icicle, with clear, cold eyes. Tapping sounded from a walking staff as a tiny body ascended the steps carved into the sculpture. Despite the stick, his steps were agile, and the hush grew expectant.
At the top, their Elder raised his staff and light flared again from the tip. He set it into a sconce beside him, illuminating the gnarled skin that was as tough as the wood of a Christmas tree, the pointed hat, and the beard that wrapped around his body from chin to curled slippers, as white as the whitest snow. A breath of pleasure spread through the cavern. It was rumored that Santa was inspired by the beard of the Elder's Elder in days of yore, which is where the tradition of the Christmas tree had come, not to mention Santa's own, trying beard.
The Elder raised his arms and the stir settled.
"We assemble here to recall our deepest roots," he spoke. "We gather to show the ice king that we have not rejected our heritage. Snow and ice claim our true identities as the children of Father Frost."
A cheer rose from the elves, and the Elder thumped his stick. "Hear, now, the tale of how Father Frost's name was usurped by Saint Nicholas, the stranger to our frozen land."
"As night subdued the sun and bade it sleep beneath the ice, Winter called us from our deep caves, and we emerged, hungry and eager to do his bidding. Mischief we caused... fires decked with ashes, windows cracked beneath ice, doors opened to night's unforgiving wind. Bread burned, bedding churned, milk spilled, underwear chilled. Our ages were filled with cold delight as we brought Winter's gifts to all."
"Ever were we servants
of the ice king and his cold.
Ever did we list to him,
our Father Frost of Old!"
yelled the elves.
The Elder nodded. "On a night when the moon was at its lowest height, a force crept into the land. Wide was his berth, solid his stride with a belt round his girth. His cheeks were flushed with fervor in a color we feared, and his coat, yea, his coat was as red as the flames that he claimed would sear our souls.
"'Oh Hellfire, that fire that is worse than the sun,' the stranger said, 'it will burn you and your children, as your fathers already burn. Unless,' he gazed at our gaping mouths with a twinkle in his eyes, 'you accept my offer.'
"'How do you know our fathers burn in this place called Hellfire?' we asked him.
"'How do I know?' he said. 'As surely as the day bests the night and melts the snow you love. As surely as you have placed the bodies of your fathers into the ice to rest, so the sun melts even the most solid tombs and sets their souls aflame. There is no rest for them, and there will be no rest for you or your little ones unless you take my offer.'
"'What offer?' we crowded around, for his words struck truth. Our fathers' bodies disappeared during the heat of summer, their bones scattered. And their souls... what did we know about life after night? We slept, we woke, we danced until Father Frost called us in. Had our fathers, in fact, met their fate in that fire Saint Nicholas threatened?
"'My offer is this,' he placed his finger alongside his nose. 'You work for me as I work for God, the God who is more powerful than the day. You work to bring His warmth to all the good boys and girls on this earth. When winter is at its very darkest, you will bring hope to their hearts. And perhaps... just perhaps... you will redeem yourselves. The fire won't claim you as it has your fathers. Indeed, the fire will set you free.'
"With a nod of his head, he hefted his sack of belongings and left, chuckling over his shoulder. 'Think on it. I'll be in the house at the top of the world, where warmth never comes but the heavens glow just the same.'
"We considered, we laughed, we argued over the hilarity of his words, at the unconscionable sacrifice infused in his offer. And the following year, when we awoke from our rests and the bodies of our fathers were missed, we recalled the words of the strange man in red. And many of us took it upon ourselves to save our children. We trekked to that house at the top of the world where light shines through the winter."
Silence reigned over the hall.
"And here we are to this day," the Elder finally said. "Slaves to good ol' Saint Nicholas, in conditions many elves call preferable. We have food, we have clothing, we have night and day the year round in which to perform our deeds. And it may just be that Hellfire, that flame which grabs souls and burns them in the night, will pass us and our children by.
"But," the Elder's eyes shone bright in his staff's light, "our minds always return to our fathers, and to our one true father, Father Frost, who surely wraps his children in his endless eve, to rest in the ice of his embrace when we are weary. And this hope, the one our fathers lived by, we remember tonight.
"For we are elves! The children of the night! The servants of ice and chill and doused fires, yea, even that great Hellfire of which Saint Nicholas spoke!"
"Ever are we servants
of the ice king and his cold.
Ever do we list to him,
our Father Frost of Old!"
yelled the elves.
"Hear me now, my brethren," said the Elder. "On this unlucky night, I present to you a choice. A choice akin to the choice the man in red gave us long ago. Who will remain here, the servants of the Sun God, and who will venture back to the homes of our fathers and prove Saint Nicholas wrong?"
"For at long last," he said into the shocked quiet, "I have made my choice."
___
Which side would you choose? Santa's? Or the elves'?
LOL, Happy Friday the 13th!
--Elm
P.S. Remember to go
here to read more unlucky pieces!
