Claus Trilogy (Boxed Set) Page 16

  The members on stage leaned closer, speaking into each other’s ears. Jocah remained quiet, eyes closed.

  BOOM!

  Silence settled like a slow rolling fog. Garren waited for the last voice to quiet but decided to move on. It had been that way in their weekly meetings and he was becoming more and more tolerant of the chatter. It was either that or the meetings would last an entire week.

  “Second item.” He attached an amplifier – a small disc – against his throat.

  “SECOND ITEM.”

  His voice became a booming powerhouse, steamrolling idle prattle.

  “THANK YOU. NOW, SECOND ITEM.”

  Several elven covered their ears. They could feel Garren’s voice in their chest like a sonic weapon. A couple elven protested, but Garren mowed right over them.

  “SECOND ITEM, REQUEST TO EXTEND RELOCATION SCHEDULE FROM ONE-WEEK INTERVALS TO TWO-WEEK INTERVALS WAS DENIED BY–”

  “The reindeer are exhausted!” an elven stood on his bench and shouted through his hands. “We’re going to kill them if we keep up at this pace!”

  “ORDER!”

  “Did you see Prancer?!” someone shouted from the other side of the room. “His eyes were drooping like he’d been hauling ice all night long.”

  “What about Dasher?!” another elven chimed. “He had to rest halfway to the new location! This madness has to stop!”

  Garren slammed his bang stick.

  More elven stood up, shouting at Garren and each other.

  The bang stick fired off without effect, its vibrations absorbed into the chaos like waves drawn into the sea.

  Someone fell off their bench and no one bent over to help him.

  Jocah’s eyes fluttered open.

  Without notice, she stood up.

  She brushed the icy particles from her white coat that floated down from the ceiling after each thundering wallop of Garren’s stick. One of the elven committee members took it from him before the ceiling collapsed.

  And Jocah, quietly and unaided, walked from the stage.

  Through the crowd.

  She went back to her room.

  Jocah couldn’t remember a time she felt tension like that.

  Her mind was chattering with thoughts. It was several minutes before she found the rhythm of her breath – sitting on her tiny bench – hands folded and eyes closed.

  There was twisting in her stomach. An ache in her chest. She explored these sensations, noticed her thoughts.

  Fear.

  But she let it be present. She allowed the unpleasant sensations that gnawed at her like a dog working a bone until it opened the marrow.

  And the truth was revealed.

  And she knew.

  She knew.

  C L A U S

  46.

  Merry stood outside Jocah’s room.

  She had noticed her exit the meeting. How graceful Jocah had slid – gliding like a ghost – down the aisle when she left. She followed her and stood waiting outside.

  And soon, there was the jingle of a bell.

  Jocah’s call for her to enter.

  Together, they sat in silence.

  Jocah cradled the bell in her hands. She looked down at it, tracing the sharp edges that outlined the opening, revealing the metal ball inside (if one looked closely) that produced a melodic sound when shook.

  The bell.

  It was handed down from teacher to teacher.

  It had been in Jocah’s possession for several hundred years, since her teacher had passed away and given her rights to lead her people.

  Possession? She laughed quietly. There is no such thing.

  The bell was a symbol of truth. It represented clarity of vision. It bestowed none of those elements to its possessor; it was merely a symbol. Such virtues were possessed by no one elven, no one being in the world. They were themselves always present. It was only the practice of the student to be open and express them.

  But the sound of the bell, if Jocah was honest, brought her joy.

  She shook it and the melody brought a smile.

  “Will you be contacting Nog?” Merry asked.

  Jocah silenced the bell.

  Merry sagged under the weight of her burden. Her emotions were heavy. They wrapped around her like layers of wet snow. She had lost so much weight. She had become dark and small.

  Jocah shook her head.

  No.

  And the first of many tears fell.

  Merry had avoided Jocah all this time.

  So much was inside her waiting to burst. She knew that – in Jocah’s presence – she would pop like a water balloon. And she wasn’t ready for that. She needed to be with her burden. She needed to absorb the sadness that remained after her… her love… her husband…

  She wailed.

  Her face was hot and wet as she convulsed, gutted with the heaviness of loss. She let it be there. She let it take her.

  She felt the hand – the warm and soft and comforting hand – on hers.

  Jocah reached out and Merry went deeper into her loss.

  “It is so bottomless.” Merry spoke between sobs. “It is so dark and it is so empty. I wake in the night and he is not next to me. I find myself bringing his coat for him to put on and he isn’t there. He’s not there.”

  Jocah looked on with a slight and understanding smile. Not one for humor, but one that was comforting and present. One that told Merry what she needed to do.

  Of course it was sad.

  She had been married to Nog for thousands of years. It was lonely and cold and empty without him.

  Notice. Experience.

  And that was all that Jocah asked of her.

  That was all there was to do.

  To be elven.

  And, in that moment, there was sadness.

  And she understood.

  Jocah did not take away Merry’s burden.

  She helped her see it clearly. There was a time when Merry would rage at Jocah’s seemingly distant presence, expecting her to remove the burden from her shoulders. She now understood that Jocah was there to help her carry her own burden.

  Merry used to think that Jocah was the light of the world. Now she realized that Jocah was there to show her they were all the light.

  They were all the light.

  Merry. Her favorite.

  Jocah’s teacher once expressed that a teacher has no favorites. But Jocah was elven. She cared deeply for all elven. But, still, Merry was her favorite. So present. So lovely.

  “We will be relocating very soon,” Merry said. “We’ll need you on the ice.”

  Jocah stroked the side of the bell, its surface smooth and cool and ancient. The metal ball rolled against the inside, letting out a tinny trickle. Jocah placed it in a small box beside her.

  She would never see it again.

  C L A U S

  47.

  Jessica’s right leg was numb.

  She’d been meditating for a long time and had become accustomed to the numbing discomfort, sitting quietly with her hands folded over her stomach, palms up. Her breath slowly worked through her nostrils.

  Nog was on top of the ice, said he was preparing for the next leap. He wasn’t sure which reindeer was coming. He wanted to be ready. They all looked so exhausted.

  He just wanted some alone time.

  He had lost more weight over the last couple of months. He rarely smiled. Sometimes the only time he spoke was to instruct her on how to quiet her mind. First, he told her in the beginning, the body learns to sit still. Then the mind.

  There was breathing practice.

  And there was noticing thoughts.

  And bodily sensations.

  It was difficult to sit so still when there was so much turmoil. They were still leaping every day, although Nog said there were some encouraging signs that the pack seemed less confident in their pursuit. If Jessica felt focused and settled, the pursuit slowed down and hesitated as if she fell off their radar.

  But then she’d
start thinking again and they’d be right back on the trail like hound dogs picking up the scent.

  That’s good, Nog would say. That’s good. Keep practicing.

  Hopeless.

  How could she expect to live her life this way? Emptying her mind of thoughts long enough to, what, stay where they were for two days instead of one? Was their goal to extend it out to a week? What kind of life was that?

  Those are thoughts, Nog would remind her. Practice and let life unfold.

  So she would huff and fold her aching legs and fold her cold hands and begin breathing again. In and out. In and out.

  There were times when she let herself get swept into the whirlpools of thought, as Nog called it. She just wanted a little break from all this reality. She wanted something to hang onto, so she allowed the thoughts to spin a story in her head.

  She saw Jon lifting the lid to the chamber. His skin was perfect and his beard was full. He stepped out and looked around, stretching like he’d just awakened from a long and refreshing nap.

  Where’s Mom? he’d ask.

  I’m here. That was the part where Jessica would enter the room. Somehow she would return to the colony (she hadn’t worked out the details about how she would do that; it was a dream, leave that for later) and she would be reunited with her son. And they would be on the ice, trekking toward the North Pole with no elven or evil twins or old ladies with long braided hair. It was just her and Jon and…

  And Nicholas.

  Nicholas was there, too.

  At first, he was in some crazy mountainous ice palace. He had a beard, too. It was big and full and red. And he was round, like her. He would be standing on top of this palace when she walked up behind him.

  Nicholas, she would whisper. And Nicholas, he would turn around.

  There would be a twinkle in his eyes. A smile beneath the whiskers.

  “Quiet your mind.” Nog entered the room.

  Jessica jolted back to the little ice room. Pins and needles poked her numb foot. She exhaled and slumped over. Her shoulders ached with tension. She cleansed her mind with deep breaths, but the thoughts wouldn’t drop away.

  “Nog,” she said, “can they see my thoughts? The pack, do they know what I’m thinking?”

  “They only see patterns of thought, not the content.”

  Jessica let her mind wander again. She didn’t so much indulge in the fantasy, but began to put together details. They couldn’t stay on the run forever. And the longer they did, the more they wore out the reindeer. She was a liability. As long as she was alive, the colony was at risk.

  And Nog was away from Merry.

  “We’ll be launching in an hour.” Nog ran his finger inside a bowl and licked it. “If you’re hungry, we can eat first. We have time.”

  Jessica agreed.

  And they ate in silence.

  But she was thinking. She had a plan.

  She would tell Nog when they landed what she was going to do.

  C L A U S

  48.

  Claus pushed items around the workbench inside the memory lab.

  The chair behind him was empty. Nicholas was back in his personal lab. Claus checked to be sure Nicholas was returned safely after talking with Jack. Sometimes his brother was rash and it concerned Claus that he might’ve done something weird. He paralyzed him, but it did no tissue or nerve damage. Nicholas was safe and healthy.

  As healthy as he was ever going to be.

  Claus reached up to the shelf and stopped, waiting for his hand to stop quivering before he took down the jar. He looked inside – it was a jar of magnetic rods – and realized he’d just put them up there not five minutes earlier. He was starting to forget.

  Everything needed to be in order. It needed to look organized, like he always worked. No changes to the ways he kept his workspace. He didn’t want Jack noticing any changes in his behavior until he was finished draining Nicholas.

  And draining his own memories, too.

  The jar crashed on the floor.

  Magnets scattered to the four walls, some sticking to each other and breaking apart on impact. Cane peeked out from beneath the bench. Claus watched him quickly sweep up the mess. It concerned him that – for a second – he didn’t recognize his own son. For a moment, it was just a smallish elven dressed in funny green clothes that seemed to be hiding beneath his workbench.

  Claus remembered, as he watched Cane scoot around the lab, when his son made his own clothes. He was different from all the elven. He never fit in. His mental faculties were excellent, he just didn’t have social skills. He liked his playthings and, one day, Claus walked in and the boy made a hat and curly-toed shoes and a green tunic. Cane called it his celebration clothes (back in the days when he talked) and glided around the room, singing a song, and Claus watched him, laughing from deep in his belly. It was a laugh that was uniquely his.

  A laugh that hadn’t been heard in hundreds of years.

  Cane returned with the jar of magnets. Claus placed it on the shelf.

  Cane latched onto his leg and squeezed and squeezed.

  “I won’t forget you, Cane.” He took the pointy green hat and put it on his own head.

  Cane giggled.

  And he squeezed his father’s leg and buried his face in his fuzzy red overcoat.

  Claus patted his head. There were certain things he couldn’t afford to let go of. Things he couldn’t forget, like Cane and his green celebration clothes. He wouldn’t forget that.

  He wouldn’t forget Jack, either.

  For some reason, he kept remembering the time he threatened him and shoved him in a closet. He changed rapidly after that. He got colder and angrier, always singing under his breath.

  It was things like that he kept remembering. Those memories he would keep. They wouldn’t be any good to drain, but the rest needed to go.

  At some level, Claus thought maybe he deserved what he got. Maybe he deserved to be under Jack’s heel.

  Maybe all this was his fault.

  C L A U S

  49.

  Jessica and Jon.

  Nicholas was dreaming.

  When he woke, they were standing on the workbench. Nicholas didn’t move, afraid they might vanish. The ghostly figures walked across the surface with bundles of firewood. Jon said something to his mother and she laughed.

  They reached the other end of the workbench, where a man was sitting on a stump. Nicholas hardly recognized himself. His face was smooth and thin. He poked a stick into a fire that flickered inside a ring of stones. As Jessica and Jon neared, tree trunks appeared around them. They were sitting in a wooded clearing.

  The orange glow filled the lab. Jessica sat next to Nicholas and he gathered her into his arms while Jon stacked the extra wood. They watched the fire, warming their hands.

  It’s a memory.

  Claus must’ve let it run for Nicholas. He couldn’t remember it.

  He knew their faces, knew Jessica and Jon, but not where he met his wife or the birth of his son.

  All he remembered was snow and ice.

  And this Godforsaken place.

  He watched the images until, hours later, they disappeared. And the room was bluish and cold.

  Lonely.

  Days went by.

  Claus was nowhere. Nicholas was trapped in the lab with his thoughts. He thought about what he couldn’t remember. He thought about what might have happened if they didn’t come to the North Pole.

  He thought about the Cold One.

  For the first time, the anger burning his stomach was replaced by something icy and twisting. Fear, at last, had arrived.

  Jack is unstoppable.

  Nicholas knew with certainty (his thoughts told him) that he would never see his wife and son again. That Jack would turn him into a monster.

  That Nicholas would wipe out every man, woman and child.

  And that thought stabbed fear deeper and colder.

  C L A U S

  50.

  Tinsel
took her time feeding the reindeer.

  Things weren’t getting better. They had to rest longer before leaping back to the mainland until they were needed again. They were burning too many calories. Tinsel doubled up on food, but they were still gassed. Dasher and Dancer were looking lean. And Prancer just folded up his legs and ate from her palm.

  She wanted to stay up with them until they were ready to go, but there wasn’t time.

  His eyes were open!

  She dropped an abominable sphere and a snowy body swirled into form, standing guard. If anything appeared on the horizon, he would sound the alarm.

  And the reindeer would have to leap again.

  How long could they do this?

  Her stomach was filled with nervous balls of hail.

  The carvers were still working to build the colony, shredded ice falling from above like snowflakes. She apologized as she zipped through the main hub and nearly knocked over someone carrying a stack of boxes. She stood outside of Medical, breathing hard.

  Her heart, thumping.

  The regulars were staring at her.

  The chessboard was empty, the checkers still in the box.

  Mr. Greyapple, Mr. Canoodle, Mrs. Minutelady, and the others parted as she moved slowly, wanting so badly to ask what was wrong but so afraid of the answer.

  Across the room, in the far corner, was the box.

  The lid flung open.

  The doctors huddled in a clump of white coats.

  Tinsel shuffled across the room, hoping to hear something before she got any closer. Dr. Garland glanced up. The other doctors stole glances at her. Dr. Garland took her hand.

  “Where is he?” Tinsel asked.

  “He’s fine, Tinsel. He’s fine. But there’s been some… unintended results.”