“Come, Tahl,” Santa Claus called. “Do not make this harder than it need be.”
The elf bit his lip, left the ledge and the wolves behind, ran and leapt into the sleigh. The older elf snapped the reins; the two goats bleated and leapt skyward, pulling the sleigh up over the trees. Tahl watched the wolves become smaller and smaller, until they were just two tiny specks alone in the forest.
As the sleigh disappeared over the ridge, the wolf set back her head and howled; the mournful, forlorn sound echoed through the snow-covered hills.
Chapter Eight
Ambush
The howl pressed into Krampus’s head, into his heart, so faint, not even a whisper, not even an echo’s echo, yet so painful to bear.
Dawn’s first glow peeked in through the window slats. The others slept undisturbed, but for Krampus it seemed there was no reprieve from the mournful call. Such sorrow, he thought. He clutched the sack, pulled it into his lap, and did his best to push the howls from his mind. Loki’s arrow, he thought, it must be found or I am defenseless. He set his mind to the task, trying to picture it in all its possible manifestations. Only he had no idea what the fabled arrow looked like, where it might be, and had to rely on the sack not only to seek but to find, and the sack was taking its toll. Where are you? Where are you?
Legend told that Odin had it taken into Muspell, the realm of lava and fire, to be melted down and destroyed forever, but Hel had spoken otherwise. Krampus pressed his eyes shut, thought of Asgard, melded with the sack. The charred ruins of Valhalla appeared in his mind, the surrounding lands all scorched earth, all a graveyard of crumbling ash. Krampus wondered how much longer before the ghostly realm was lost forever. The bones of a ship appeared among a dry seabed. “Hringhorni, Baldr’s funeral vessel,” Krampus whispered. “It must be here. Look for the—”
The howl—mournful and piercing.
The vision faded. Krampus opened his eyes, found himself staring about the church again, into the tortured face of the Christ hanging on the wall. He let out a long sigh, let the sack fall from his hands, the fatigue eating down to his very bones. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped to the window, peered out into the frosty morning and watched dawn’s light dance among the icicles, heard the call of morning birds. He longed to just sit there the day long and watch Sol make her path across the winter landscape. But there would be no time for such frivolity, not for him, not so long as Baldr still drew breath.
Again, the howl.
Geri. Krampus felt sure. The language of animals was as his own, and with the ancients he shared a bond. The howl told of more than pain, it spoke of abandonment. Krampus shook his head. He has left them behind. Odin’s great pets left to die alone. Krampus found his nails biting into his palm. Odin would curse him ill for such deed.
Another cry.
And blame is shared, for my hand is at play in these matters as well. That cannot be denied. Would I be as he then? Would I sit by and do nothing? Let them die? Allow those magnificent beasts to disappear from this world? He shook his head. Something must be done.
He turned, sure of course, then hesitated. This could be one of his tricks. A trap. A ruse to draw me out. Krampus took in a deep breath. Perhaps . . . perhaps not. Some risks must be made.
“Arise,” Krampus called.
The Belsnickels raised their heads, sat up, looked about as though unsure where they were and how they’d arrived here. There was no such confusion on Jesse’s face. He sat up quick, his hands still bound and his leg tied to the pew. Krampus could read his focus, his hatred; the man made no effort to hide it. Krampus thought how surprised Jesse would find it if he knew how much he, Krampus, understood that hatred. He liked this man’s spirit, wanted to tell him to hold fast, that he, the Yule Lord, would make good on his promise, but knew such words would be lost on the man while he resided in such a dark place.
“We go. Load up into the carriage. I have an errand.”
They looked at him confused.
“We must find the wolf.”
“THIS IS JUST plain stupid,” Jesse said, keeping a tight eye on the icy rut road as he patted his pockets in the hopes of finding a stray cigarette.
“Stupid or not,” Isabel replied, “his mind’s made up.” She still wore that confounded panda cap he’d bought her, hadn’t taken it off since first putting it on, and it made it hard to be mad at her.
Jesse slowed the truck down to a crawl as they forded a small creek. He shook his head. They’d been lucky on the highway, the only traffic was two out-of-state semis. But it was early, traffic would pick up soon, and there was no guarantee their luck would hold when they tried to head back. “He’s gonna get us all killed. This is stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“He can be a hard one to figure sometimes,” Isabel said. “Talking murder one minute then crying over some dead birds the next.”
“Well, one run-in with those wolves was enough for me.” Jesse glanced into the rearview at Krampus and the Belsnickels sitting beneath the torn-up camper shell, all of them watching the woods, searching the trees for any sign of the wolves, Santa Claus, who knew what else. The Belsnickels held everything, from spears and knives to a machine pistol, while Krampus clung to that sack like a child to its blanket, his eyes drinking in the scenery.
They came across the video-game boxes scattered all across the dirt road and Vernon tapped the glass. “Krampus wants you to turn around. He believes we’ve passed them.”
Jesse found a wide spot, turned around, and headed slowly back down the mountain. About a quarter-mile later, Krampus raised his hand. Jesse gently tapped the brakes, careful of the ice, and they rolled to a stop.
“He wants you to turn off the engine,” Vernon said in a hushed voice, as though the wolves might be hiding under the truck.
Jesse thought this was a bad move. He wanted to be able to stomp the accelerator and go, should either of the wolves appear, and you couldn’t always count on the old V-8 to start right up, even when it was warm. “I don’t know if I—”
“Shush,” Vernon said, putting a finger to his lips. “He’s listening for them.”
Jesse rolled his eyes and shut off the engine.
Krampus slid out of the truck, followed by the Belsnickels. The Shawnee wore their pistols and knives in their belts and held their spears at the ready, scanning the woods in all directions. Vernon walked up to Jesse’s window, fiddling with the converted Mac-10 he’d brought along, oblivious to the fact that he was pointing it at Jesse while he did. “Hey,” he whispered. “How do you cock this thing, again?”
Jesse pushed the barrel toward the ground. He had little faith in Vernon’s abilities to use the weapon without shooting himself, or his pals, and just hoped he wasn’t anywhere near the man if he did decide to use it. “When you get ready to use it, slide this bolt back.” Jesse had never shot a machine pistol before, but it was a simple enough gun. By the way Vernon handled it, he wondered if Vernon had ever shot any gun before. “Don’t pull the bolt back until you’re ready to shoot, or the gun could go off in your hand.”
Vernon pulled the bolt back.
“No, Vernon, not until you’re ready to shoot.”
“I am ready,” Vernon said, inadvertently pointing the gun right at Jesse as he did.