“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?
KRAMPUS 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.