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In the aftermath of that strange battle, many things happened in a short time. Della appeared, eager to make sure we were all right, and hurried all the candidates back to the Hall of Good Cheer.
Everyone had questions. Where was Father Christmas? Was he all right? Where was Trimble now? Was the Grim Frost dead or just sleeping? Della didn’t know the answers to any of them.
Back among the myriad toys and diversions, no one was inclined to continue playing. Instead, we all chattered at once about what we had just witnessed. Even Clive stayed with the group, rather than going back to his note taking.
A few minutes later, Martin asked us to follow him to the den. “There is someone who wants to meet you,” he said, smiling.
I knew it was Trimble before we got there. To be blunt, Trimble had a conspicuous odor. This did nothing to diminish everyone’s delight in seeing him. Andras and Ariast stood beside him, one brushing his coat, the other feeding him an oatcake. The jeweled medallion hung on Trimble’s forehead, attached by chain to both antlers, perched just above the VN marking in his fur.
“Hello, stranger,” said Andras to Clive. “We’ve met before.”
Clive gave a worried nod in return.
“Is that true?” I asked.
“They’re the ones who arrested me,” said Clive.
“What’s he talking about?” asked Gordon.
“I’m pretty sure it’s a secret,” I said.
“Lot of that going around.” Gordon turned his attention to Trimble. “Is it all right if I touch him?”
“Be my guest,” said Ariast. “But gentle. He’s been through a lot.”
The deer lowered his head and Gordon reached up to place his hand on Trimble’s forehead. The two girls went to either side and scratched behind Trimble’s ears. Jeremy kept a safe distance, while Clive stood near Trimble’s right flank and tentatively stroked his fur.
“Várrugas,” Andras said softly. “Be very careful. He’s sensitive, and he’s bigger than any of us.”
Everyone had words to say to Trimble, about how worried they had been or how pretty he was. Gordon regaled the noble reindeer with a detailed account of his trips to the dentist.
Martin returned with an announcement. “Your host waits for you in the Great Hall! The night’s terrors have ended. It is time for celebration!”
With that, he spun around and shouted, “Follow me!” So we did.
Kris, now truly Father Christmas, stood at the center of the dance floor. He wore a long hooded velvet cape, deep red, with a smaller matching capelet around his shoulders. Beneath this, he sported a forest green tunic. Everything was trimmed with ornate stitching in golden thread. He held a long wooden staff, a shepherd’s crook, topped with a gold ornament on which the letters VN were boldly visible.
“Friends! At last, I can welcome you to my home at Very North!”
The children stood in the doorway and stared, shy of moving any closer.
“Please, come in,” Father Christmas said, “Run to my side if you wish!” The candidates all sprinted, suddenly shouting, clamoring to be first to take his hand or steal a hug. He bore it patiently for a while, then gently guided the herd toward the banquet tables.
“All right, all right. I will talk to each of you in turn. But first, we all need something hearty to eat.”
We gorged on roast goose, turkey, ham, and cranberry tarts. Each candidate had a small pudding exclusively marked with his or her name. Clive and I split the pudding that had been made for Olivia.
Each pudding held a colored stone. “I wish it was money,” said Jeremy.
“Those are elf stones,” said Lemuel. “Very rare. They’re worth a lot more than money in our world.”
“It’s true,” said Father Christmas. “If you need to barter with the forest folk, cash will get you nowhere. Those stones are highly valued by forest gnomes.” He paused and then looked at Lemuel. “Of course, if you have Kramer’s soups on hand.”
“Heard about that, did you?” Lemuel smiled sheepishly.
“Are you really Father Christmas?” Gordon asked.
“Yes, but I’m more than that.”
“What else are you?” countered Gordon.
“I’m a man named Kris.”
“Kringle?” shouted Jeremy.
“If you like.”
Clive spoke next. “Are you all right?”
“Hmm? Oh, certainly, I’m fine.”
“It’s just that, it looked like you were freezing to death.” Clive’s head nodded toward the windows.
“Oh, that. It already seems like a long time ago.”
“It wasn’t a quarter hour ago,” Tabitha said.
“I know,” said Father Christmas. “And you are right, Clive. It was an unpleasant ordeal. But I’m well and warm now. I’m happy that you asked after my well being.”
“Is it still there, that big monster?” said Samantha.
“The Grim Frost? Oh, no. He is gone. There’s nothing to worry about. I am only very sorry that it happened this night, with all of you here. I never meant for you to encounter such a fright. But it’s over, and all is well.”
“Is it dead?”
“No. Just defeated. The Grim Frost always returns.”
I looked through the windows. Where the Grim Frost had stood, there were now only a few mounds of unsettled snow, and a set of tracks that led to the gate beyond.
They couldn’t have been the tracks of the monster, though. They were too small. Who made those tracks? I wondered. Who else is out there?
Lemuel appeared at the doorway and cleared his throat.
“Your honor, assembled guests, it is my privilege to announce the arrival of my lady, Mother Solstice.”
She walked softly into the Great Hall. This time there were no bright lights and blasting tones. She wore a small fur coat over her shoulders, and she looked a little weary as she stepped across the floor.
“Welcome, my dear,” said Father Christmas. “Welcome to the Secret Feast. How long I hoped we might one day share it together.”
She gave a weary smile, and said, “I need something to eat.”
“Of course. Young man,” he said, looking at me, “Would you bring my wife a plate of cheeses and barley bread?”
“Your wife?” said Tabitha.
“Yes. She is my beloved, and I hope I am still hers.”
“Always, my love,” she said. Then she looked to the door. “Lemuel, where are the others? This banquet needs some music.”
Lemuel gave a loud whistle down the hallway. Presently, three little men arrived, chained together at the ankles. Each carried an instrument, and they clanked and clattered into the room. I recognized them at once. It was Wheatbrew, Copper and Branchstaff, members of the Forest Abduction Brigade.
“My captives,” said Mother Solstice. “I caught them in a forest tavern on the island of Aotearoa.” She looked at me briefly as she said it. “I have asked them to play for us. It’s just a small part of their punishment.”
The three began to play. Copper’s violin squeaked and scratched out a tune. Wheatbrew’s trumpet was shrill and harsh. Branchstaff strummed on a lute, out of time with the others.
“Is it their punishment, or ours?” said Father Christmas.
“Hold on,” said Lemuel. “A little holly beer, and they’ll be fine.”
The improving mead was given to the musicians, and the benefit was near instantaneous. Their sound was now coordinated and sweet. After she had enjoyed a few bites of bread and fine cheese, Mother Solstice stepped to Father Christmas. The two joined hands and began to dance slowly across the floor. Before long, Samantha dragged Gordon out as well, and deftly pulled and shoved the young man in a semblance of romantic waltz.
Even as Mother Solstice danced, questions rained down on her.
“Are you a witch?” asked Jeremy, with the innocent tactlessness of a five year old.
“Not quite. Though if you ask the fellows in the band, I know they call me so,” and she pointed to the F.A.B. as she said it.
“But, you do magic,” said Samantha, “right?”
“There are powers that live in the very earth itself. Sometimes, I am able to command them.”
“How did you move through the snow like that?”
“Did you bring Trimble back to life?”
She stopped dancing and gave Father Christmas a small kiss, then turned to the candidates.
“Any spells I used, I could never have managed by myself. You all helped me, you know.”
“What, by singing that dreadful song?” said Gordon.
“Yes, it did help. Not because of the song so much. It helped because we let the strange magics know where we all stood. I can’t expect you all to understand. I don’t always understand.”
“What are the strange magics?” said Tabitha.
“Father Christmas, do you care to take this one?”
Father Christmas drew a chair and sat down. “I tire easily these days. Everyone, sit near so I won’t have to shout. You have so many questions, and you deserve some answers.”
When everyone had gathered around him, he shouted out to Lemuel. “Let’s have the band take a break, shall we?”
“Don’t you like us?” shouted Copper from across the room.
“I am very grateful for your playing, Copper. Go and enjoy some food.”
“Can we get out of the chains, then?”
Father Christmas looked to his wife for an answer. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” he shouted back. “You’ll have to make your way to the banquet table together. The chains stay on, for now.”
The three of them shuffled in tandem to the table, and Father Christmas began his address.
“The strange magics are embedded in the earth. They are all around, but you seldom hear about them. Most people, as they get older, lose their ability to sense them. The folk of the forests fade from view. The secret passageways too soon are beyond reach. Even lucky young people like yourselves, when you grow older, may begin to doubt that these things ever happened. And that is a good thing. It protects us. It keeps the busy outside world from trying to find us.”
“Now, everyone, you have heard us call this the Secret Feast. Let me tell you why. Everything that we say to one another here, everything you have seen and heard in Very North, must be kept secret. You have all kept secrets before. In fact, most of you have kept secrets for me, at my own request. When this night is over, and you go back to your homes, and your day-to-day lives, you will be tempted to speak about the evening’s events. Be sure that if you tell your story to anyone in your world, they are not likely to believe you. They will say that you are inventing a tale, or that you were dreaming. But be sure of this. You are not dreaming.”
The children continued to hang on his every word. Clive looked restless, and I knew why. He was nowhere near his notebook.
“Write it down tonight, Clive,” I whispered. “You’ll remember, I’m sure.”
Father Christmas took a drink of mulled cider and continued.
“I live the happiest of lives here at Very North. I’ve been here a long time. I’m quite old, much older than I look.”
“You look about a hundred,” said Jeremy, and Tabitha, horrified, apologized for him.
“I take no offense. I am older even than that.”
“How old?” demanded Gordon, then instantly regretted it “Sorry, that was rude.”
“I lost count after 170 winters, and even that is going far back.”
“I know exactly how many years,” said Mother Solstice, “even if you can’t remember.”
“How many?” said Gordon, re-emboldened by the candor of our two hosts.
“I will not say,” said Mother Solstice. “A lady never reveals her age, and I am a few years older than my husband.”
“You don’t look it,” said Gordon, and he was rewarded with a kiss on the forehead.
“Aren’t you sweet,” said Mother Solstice. Gordon didn’t look especially pleased at the boon.
“My wife and I met before either of us knew a thing about the strange magics. We fell in love, but we could not marry.”
“Why not,” asked Samantha.
“It’s hard to explain to young people,” he said, and looked over at Mother Solstice.
“He was a priest, and in his church, priests do not marry.”
“So you’re Catholic, then? Me too.” Samantha looked rather happy at this coincidence.
“It’s true. I was once, long ago, a priest, and for a while, a bishop, in a very small diocese.”
“He brought me gifts,” said Mother Solstice. “He brought food to my family, and to others in the village.”
“That’s so sweet!” Samantha gushed.
“It was my calling to help the poor. But, after I met..., well, she had a different name then, and so did I.”
“What was your name?” Tabitha asked Mother Solstice.
“It was a plain, forgettable name, and it doesn’t matter anymore,” she said. She gave a sideward nod to Father Christmas, one that seemed to say please continue but leave the names out of it.
Father Christmas nodded in reply. “I fell in love at first sight of her. I made any excuse I could find to see her. That village got twice the provisions of any other, so often did I visit.”
Father Christmas stood up and began pacing as he continued, circling Mother Solstice.
“She was in my every thought. At vespers, I tried to keep my mind on our Heavenly Father, but it was she who haunted my dreams.”
He held his hands out to his wife, and she took them. They both smiled. Soon, they were dancing again, without music, in slow circles.
“For months, I kept my love secret. One December evening, her father called me to her house. She was ill. Gravely ill. I went to her side, and there, I pledged my devotion. I remember now what she said when I finally confessed my love.”
“I told him he was a reckless fool.”
“Yes, her very words. And true enough.”
The two stopped their dance, and Father Christmas returned to his chair.
“Well, the village doctors had abandoned hope. She couldn’t eat. She shook with fever. On a cold night, I ran to the forest, in search of curative plants. And that is when I met him.”
“Met who?”
“Father Christmas, of course. Oh, I’m not the first. I am only the latest. But more on that anon.”
I thought I saw movement along the periphery of my vision. A shadow seemed to pass by one of the openings of the nearest corridor. I was troubled, but not sure of what I had seen. I returned my attention to Father Christmas.
“I found the old man cutting roots by moonlight. I didn’t know who he was, but I sensed something about him, something mystical. He spoke a blessing , then asked what was troubling me. I poured my heart out about the dying woman I sought to rescue. And that Father Christmas, who would soon be my mentor, he smiled. He told me that if I would bring my love to Very North, her life could be spared.”
“Very North? I asked him. Where is this place? He said it was several days journey, but he knew a secret way. He summoned an animal to carry her. Can anyone tell me what animal that was?”
“Was it Trimble?” said Clive.
“Yes, young master, it was indeed Trimble. For that deer is much older than I, older than Mother Solstice, older than any other creature you might meet.”
“Is it all right if I have a raspberry tart now?” said Jeremy. Tabitha narrowed her eyes and said, “He’s trying to tell a story!”
“I’m listening,” replied Jeremy.
“You are welcome to as many treats as you like. Go on, help yourself. You’ll be more attentive if you do.”
Jeremy was not the only one to take this advice. Everyone soon had second or third helpings in front of them. As foretold, their attention became more focused.
“I hurried to her side, and stole her from her bed. I hoisted her onto the back of Trimble, thinking myself mad for following such strange suggestions. Trimble carried her away, out of my sight. He took her through one of the mystic passages, such as all of you have now traversed. At the time, I knew nothing of them. I thought she was lost to me. Indeed, her father, her brothers, the entire village demanded to know what I had done with her. When I told them my story, you can imagine their anger.
“I was chased into the forest, and threatened with my very life. But soon enough, I made acquaintance with the forest folk.”
“But what about you,” Samantha said to Mother Solstice. “What happened to you?”
“I found myself here, at Very North,” replied Mother Solstice. “It was different then, not as grand as you find it tonight. Father Christmas, at that time, was an old man named Ambrose. He was a doctor. When I awoke and saw him standing over me, I thought perhaps I had already died.”
“The forest elves brought me to her side,” Kris interrupted. “I was taught the ritual. I pledged myself to the strange magics, and to Very North. It’s the same ritual we perform tonight. The Secret Feast.”
“Our first together in many years.” Mother Solstice signaled to the band that their mealtime was done. They dragged themselves together back to their platform.
The dance resumed. This time, it was ceremonial, almost pagan. Copper played a flute and Wheatbrew beat on an elk skin drum. Father Christmas and Mother Solstice stepped in patterns to the beguiling minor key melody.
Martin sat nearby, treating himself to a fig pie with brandy butter. I took a chair next to him.
“So they haven’t been together here in years?” I asked.
“A spell has kept them apart,” said Martin. “A spell of jealousy. She abides in the cold climes of the southern hemisphere. Kris must remain here. For the winter, at least.”
“But, they can see each other the rest of the year?”
“They can, and often do.”
“So what’s different this time?”
“Trimble,” said Martin, his voice now quite serious. “Her ladyship has paid a price. Her powers are gone now. She gave them over, permanently.”
“To Trimble?”
“Yes.”
“What will happen to her?”
“She will live at her home in the Southern cold. Every day she spends away from her own fortress is a day she will age.”
“And Father Christmas?”
“He must choose whether to stay here and live indefinitely, or join his wife on the other end of the earth, there to grow older.”
“That’s so sad.” It was Tabitha. She and Samantha had overheard Martin’s remarks to me. “So any time they are together, one of them has to get older?”
“Yes. Unless the spell is broken.”
As the melancholy tune slowed to a close, Father Christmas and Mother Solstice shared a long, tender kiss. Tabitha and Samantha sighed loudly, and Gordon rolled his eyes.
Father Christmas clapped his hands. “Now, our ritual requires the Dance of Secrets.” He turned to the children. “You have learned the dance, yes?”
They gave the expected bashful demurrals and shuffling of feet, but after a little prompting, the four of them assembled in a circle and began their quadrille. The movements were simple, walking in circles, waving arms and turning in place. As they did so, the seven lanterns on the other side of the window began to glow and brighten again.
Our two hosts watched, and encouraged with clapping and laughter. As the music ended, Father Christmas yelled out, “ Let’s bring more light to this long night.”
Mother Solstice handed out tapirs to all of us and asked us to be silent. “The next part of our ritual is the spreading of light throughout Very North. As we light candles, we will sing a simple tune. Listen now.”
She and Father Christmas sang it softly to us in the calm silence:
May all who come to this enchanted place
Forever any grievances erase
And from this night until the dusk of time
Impart to all new hope and love sublime
We sang it together a few times, and then walked the corridors, lighting candles as the song became a round. We lit candles on mantles, in grottoes, on shelves, surrounded by pine branches or holly. We passed empty corridors, arrived at hidden rooms, turned around, and found the once bare walls suddenly trimmed with holly boughs and lanterns. The halls of Very North grew magically more splendid before our eyes.
The labyrinth of stone corridors was soon aglow with light, resounding with our cascade of song. Every inch of the place was suffused in a soft amber haze. Delicate shadows of branch and berry danced along the walls. And yet, around every corner, I detected the passing of dark-cloaked figures, silently racing to stay out of our sight.
We ended our song in a courtyard, surrounded on all four sides with rough-hewn stone walls. Above us, stars showed through the haze. I recognized Polaris, almost directly above. My eyes followed the trail of stars in Ursa Minor. The hazy sky hung low, and the starlight piercing through the mist seemed almost near enough to touch.
Two sculpted ice figures stood on pedestals in the courtyard. One depicted Trimble, the other a long-horned goat. Father Christmas lit fires in tall stone altars before each of them. He uttered a few words in an ancient language. Then he turned and looked to his right.
“Where is Mother Solstice?” he said.
Through the windows that surrounded the courtyard, I saw a dozen figures in black move quickly to surround us. They held fiery torches, and each wore a black mask depicting an animal. Where Silbersee the coach driver had been a lone disquieting presence, a dozen such were terrifying.
Two hooded men stepped into the doorway holding Mother Solstice between them. One wore the mask of a gryphon, the other a boar.
“We are placing this witch under our custody,” came a voice from the boar, coarse and deep, much like that of Silbersee.
“Our master demands a spell,” said the gryphon.
“Take your hands off of her!” said Father Christmas. There was no fear in his voice, but anger.
“Follow us, Father Christmas, and watch your merriment turn to misery,” said the other hooded man. Mother Solstice was led away, and Father Christmas ran after, leaving us candidates alone and afraid.