“Odin’s grief was bottomless and he had Hoor slain for the deed.” Krampus shook his head. “I have always felt for Hoor. A pawn in a game of jealousy and spite. He carried the torment of killing his own beloved brother, then to be slain by his own father. Tragic indeed. Odin laid Baldr’s body to rest upon the great ship Hringhorni and set it ablaze. It is said that Baldr’s wife, Nanna, in her grief, threw herself into the flame to follow him into death.”
Krampus took another swig. “But that was just the beginning, for Baldr’s spirit fell into Hel, into the realm of the dead where even the great Odin had no right of rule. Though Odin and Frigg sent another of their sons, Hermod, to offer ransom and beg Baldr’s release, my mother, Hel, would not give up Baldr’s spirit. And it is known but to a very few that Hel played games with Odin to distract him while Loki sought a confession from Baldr. Told Baldr he would be Hel’s slave, imprisoned until Ragnarok, unless he admitted of his scheme. Here is where Baldr surprised them, as he refused such bargain, chose to remain Hel’s prisoner, to spend an age amongst the dead before exposing his own deceit.
“And that is how I first came to see him, as a prisoner in Hel. He was most curious to me as a child, this beautiful deity, there in his chamber with his dead wife. He looked such a desolate soul, appeared almost as stone. He would stand for days on end without moving, staring down into the bottomless chasms of the nether regions, listening to the songs of the dead and waiting, waiting, ever waiting for the end of the gods, for Ragnarok and its promise of freedom.
“I questioned Mother, ‘How could one willing to make such sacrifice to keep his secrets truly be of low character?’ She laughed and said not to confuse pride with nobleness, and warned me not to pity him. But I felt this being had suffered his share. Even then, at that young age, I could see that Loki’s hatred and jealousy of Odin was at the heart of Baldr’s fate. And so I did come to pity him, and that, my friend, was the beginning of my undoing. For a bitter lesson lay ahead and it is that a serpent is always a serpent, no matter the guise. I had no way of knowing then that there would come a day when I would be unable to utter his name, that I would dream of his blood on my hands a hundred thousand times over.”
Krampus started to tell more, to tell the rest of the story. He glanced at Jesse, realized the music man was asleep.
Krampus let out a great sigh, tugged open the sack, peered into its murky depths. “Together we shall find Loki’s arrow. Together we shall kill Baldr no matter what guise he might wear.”
Chapter Seven
Naughty List
Footsteps, heavy, stomping footfalls coming up the stairs. Jesse found himself in his childhood room. He was six, maybe seven years old, and it was Christmas. The banister was strung with tinsel and Christmas lights and they blinked and sparkled. A large shadow blocked out the lights as it marched up the stairs. “Ho, ho, ho,” boomed a voice, one laced with judgment and condemnation. “Have you been naughty, Jesse? Hmm? Have you?” Jesse began to shake; he tugged the covers up to his neck. Santa pushed through the door, his burly figure so massive he barely fit through the frame. He crossed to Jesse’s bedside, carrying a large sack, a blood-colored sack, slung across his shoulder. He stood there towering, looming, his tiny black eyes locked on Jesse as though weighing his soul.
Santa rolled the sack off his shoulder and onto the bed. The sack was moving, as though full of dogs and cats perhaps. Jesse heard what sounded like muffled mewing and cries, but knew it couldn’t be, not coming from Santa’s sack. Santa shook his head sadly. “You’ve been naughty, Jesse. Very, very naughty.” Jesse tried to speak, tried to say that he was a good boy, but his mouth couldn’t form the words.
Six hunched figures crept up behind Santa, glistening skin, dark as pitch, twisting horns protruding from their scalps and long red tongues lolling from between black teeth. They looked at Jesse as though he’d be good to eat.
Santa loosened the cord and opened the sack and now Jesse could clearly hear the cries, and they weren’t from cats and dogs, but children, screaming and moaning as though in great pain.
Santa jabbed a chubby finger at Jesse. “He is on the naughty list. Put him in the sack.” The devils all grinned, rubbed their long fingers together, and reached for Jesse.
Jesse opened his eyes and found himself still in a room with six devils; their hunched figures silhouetted by the flickering glow of the potbellied stove. The church was dark and he realized it was night, wondered how long he’d been asleep. Something smelled foul; he sniffed. Blood?
Jesse scanned the shadows and found huge, unblinking eyes staring back at him. He sat up.
A cow, or at least its head, sat atop a chest, blood dripping down its tongue onto the floor. Whoa, he thought. Where’d that come from? He spotted a large steel wash tub against the wall. He made out a rump, flank, and two legs jutting up. Someone is gonna miss that cow. Something else was new: mistletoe, several piles of it. It looked as though someone had been whittling spikes out of the branches.
He climbed to his feet, swayed, put out a hand to steady himself, still a bit light-headed from the mead. No headache, not like a hangover at all, just a slight buzz. His stomach growled. He hoped to find something to eat besides raw beef. He skirted around the mistletoe and came up behind the Belsnickels. They sat huddled around Krampus’s sack.
“No, Krampus,” Vernon grumbled. “That’s not right.”
Krampus held what appeared to be a black powder pistol. Jesse moved up for a closer look and noticed there were two swords, a shield, and an old, rusty revolver lying on the floor.
Jesse squatted next to Isabel. “What’s going on?”
Vernon answered, “We’re trying to get him to find us some acceptable weaponry. You know, in case, say, just by happenstance, a giant wolf or some other monstrosity should come along.”
“He can pull anything out of there?” Jesse asked. “Not just toys?”
Krampus nodded distractedly.
Jesse agreed with Vernon, some updated weaponry would be very good to have indeed, and would certainly be in order when they stormed the General’s compound. “You need some automatic weapons. A few assault rifles would do the trick.”
“That’s just what I was telling him,” Vernon said, not hiding his annoyance. “Modern weapons, Krampus. You’ve seen pictures of them in the newspaper.”
Krampus raised his hands in obvious frustration. “It is not so easy as that. One must first know what it is one is searching for.”
“Might be able to help,” Jesse put in.
Krampus looked up at him, considered. “Yes, maybe you can. Come here.” He patted the floor next to him. “Sit.”
Jesse came over and Krampus pulled the sack between them.
“The sack finds what I wish. But first I must know what it is that I seek. And further, it is easier if the sack knows where to look. Easier and far less draining, and until I have my strength back, I must ration my efforts.”
“Okay, sure. What do I do?”
“You help me to seek. You are not of Loki’s bloodline, so the sack will not obey you. Thus we must work together. We both must hold the sack. You will think of a location and an item and I will direct the sack to obey.”