by shaunallan
Christmas was coming. The goose was getting happily fat as, in contrast to the poem, most people ate turkey. The shops were overflowing with decorations and the usual short term mall outlets had changed from selling candles to American candy to everything-for-a-pound tinsel, baubles and plastic stick on the window Santa faces.
Excitement was building like a geyser's pressure, ready to explode on that one day and then be fizzled out by the next. Many would try to cling on to the festive spirit for weeks after whilst others removed all sign by the time evening on Boxing Day came.
And, at the North Pole, the blood flowed on the snow as if Santa's suit had been casually discarded while he took a well earned, post delivery bath.
But he hadn't had that bath. Not yet. Not for at least two weeks. Two weeks of preparation. Two weeks of frantic hard work.
Two weeks of murder. Of death. Of screams that lasted long into the night, devoid of the need to take a ragged breath, tortured and relentless.
It started out as an accident. More often than one might think, such things do. A slip or a push. A dropped object. Failed brakes. Not all death is either natural or planned. So it was here. Besides, Elves were inherently nice, in the main. They had been for centuries, ever since being employed by the father of all Christmases. Their dark past was long forgotten. Forever buried.
Everyone thought so. Or didn't think so. It was not even a legend anymore. There were no bedtime stories or threats that, if you didn't go straight to sleep, the Elves would get you. They wouldn't, of course. They preferred their prey to be sleeping. They could attune their heartbeats to the slumbering form, an attribute that gave them fair warning if the stolen child was about to wake.
But that was so long before, Time had discarded that part of history like so much torn off wrapping paper.
Their employment had been a lifeline. The Elves were in danger of dissolving into savage monsters whose only thoughts were of the hunt. The capture. The bloodletting and the feast. Turning them into the builders of dreams had given them hope. It had given them another path. It had given Santa time to relax and to find and woo a wife.
Cassiopeia. Betrothed of Santa. True blood Elf and descendent of Cassius, the four hundred and fifteenth Lord of the Elven people. Cassius, though it was no longer recalled, had been the one to finalise the deal. It was his ministrations that saved his race. He was legend, though the reasons for his adoration were lost. She was the embodiment of everything her great-grandfather's great-grandfather's great... Cassiopeia was the perfect wife. The perfect mother of Christmas.
Until...
"You know you still love me," Alix whispered.
Walking back to the house she shared with her husband, a building that appeared small and homely on the outside but was, in fact, vast and technologically advanced once you entered, Cassiopeia had been smiling. Christmas was over. It had been another success, though not without its dramas. Still, the hiccups kept things interesting and she enjoyed the rush of adrenaline such things injected into her. She was looking forward to settling down with her husband and planning the busy and challenging new year.
They had not been married long, though their courtship had been extended. Santa couldn't just take anyone for a wife. He was the White Father. But, traditional and stature aside, he had fallen deeply in love with the Elf. And she with him.
This had been their first Christmas since their wedding and he had found her enthusiasm and ingenuity invaluable. Every year, tastes changed for the children of the world, and the North Pole had to keep abreast. Cassiopeia had not only ensured they were up to date, but had planted the seeds of ideas that would keep them ahead of the game for some years to come.
She gasped and stumbled and, helpless, found herself caught in his arms, staring into his eyes.
She remembered those arms. Those eyes. Those lips.
She was lost for a moment as his brushed hers, but the sudden spell was quickly broken. Alix was the past. Santa was the present and, she had no doubt, the future.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, pushing her former lover away.
It had been a rushed, passionate time. Heated as all Elven relationships were. She and he were together for less than a century, but she couldn't deny he had stolen a piece of her heart she would never get back. But, in taking that piece, he had left her scarred. He had a wandering eye. Wandering arms and lips. It wasn't until the end that she discovered just how long he had deceived her for.
"Claiming what's mine," laughed Alix.
"Yours? What do I have that's yours?"
"You. You're mine. You always were and always will be."
Cassiopeia laughed. Yes. The arrogance. She had forgotten that.
"We'll ask my husband about that, shall we?"
"Just because you wed the Father, doesn't mean you don't still pine for some Elven spice."
"It's a shame it leaves such a bitter taste," she spat.
She turned and walked away, fighting the urge to look back and see the smile she knew would be on his face. The one that rarely failed to disarm her. She hurried home, thankful for the first time that her husband wouldn't be back until later. She needed to compose herself, though she tried to deny the reasons why.
She had finished things with Alix when she discovered his infidelity. Hurt as she was, but still desperate for the feelings he stirred within her, she became a recluse, only venturing out when she heard he had moved away. The North Pole was such an expanse, she might never see him again. That was a blessing, though a sharp edged one.
And then she met Santa, something the Elves always wished for but never expected to happen. He was always so busy. Too busy to visit and meet the entire population. But, being the descendant of their ruler gave her a certain eminence. The role had faded in recent centuries, but that didn't alter the fact that she and her line were seen as, to a certain extent, special. The Elves saw Santa as their monarch now. Cassiopeia's reverence was something that had remained but many simply accepted it and deferred to her. They didn't question the reasons or wonder on the history.
This sudden appearance of a past she wished forgotten was upsetting. She was married. She was happy! What right did he have? But, that whisper of a kiss. She wanted it to be a shout!
No. No she didn't! Not at all! Never!
Except...
The affair ended, again, almost as soon as it began. Cassiopeia told herself repeatedly that she was only confirming what she already knew. He was no good for her and she had chosen well in being with Father Christmas. She lost the baby, by natural causes, luckily before she had to tell him everything. She blamed her supposed illness on the unaccustomed excitement of the festive season. She wasn't simply an Elf working on creating gifts. She was partner to the White Father. She would be fine.
And Alix, realising, she hoped, the futility of his manoeuvres, vanished once more.
Why had he reappeared? She didn't know and didn't want to. She'd been careless. More than that, she was stupid.
And then, time passed. Under the protection of the North Pole's Aurora, Time's wheel turned much slower than in the rest of the world. Elves lived extremely long lives, which was one of Santa's prime reasons for asking them to join him. Within the boundaries of the Aurora, however, even that was extended. They had witnessed such epic changes in the world – wars, famines, wonderful acts of kindness – but were removed from it all. They worked, fulfilling the requirements of the Elven/Santa treaty, the Christmas Accords, but, after so much time since they were signed, they forgot that they were fulfilling anything. They just worked and were happy doing so.
Cassiopeia became the wife that Santa always wanted. She buried her guilt and lost herself in her work and her marriage.
She didn't find the blood, but the deer that had reported to her first, did. She had become the one everyone went to. She listened and cared and acted, and kept much from her husband. He had far too much to do. She could deal with the rest.
The animal had to stretch up on its hind legs to whisper in her ear. Elves were tall and slender, with sharp features that sometimes made their faces appear as if they were being pulled in two directions at once. Elven eyes were the only soft aspect of their face, with the large pear drop orbs focussing your gaze completely. The conversation was brief. The showing of the discovery only slightly less so.
She ordered, or strongly requested, that the deer keep it to herself. There was no cause for alarm. Someone had injured themselves, that was all.
When it had gone, she bent to inspect the area, the composure she'd shown the deer evaporated.
The blood was becoming diluted by the thick snow, the warmth of one melting the other to create a splash of pink that could have been attractive under other circumstances. Cassiopeia touched it gently, as if stroking the ebbing life contained within, wishing it well on its way into the Darkness.
This was no simple injury. There was too much.
She looked around, her, the Elven slant of her eyes allowing her to focus on the minutest detail. The lack of footprints, including hers, wasn't a surprise. It was Santa's wish that all snow be appear virginal. Footprints vanished almost as soon as they'd been made.
It didn't matter.
The Elf crouched and laid her hands on the snow. She closed her eyes and spread her hands on the unmarked snow. Her breathing slowed and then stopped. Her heartbeat followed suit. She waited, the gifts bestowed upon her when she became the White Mother coming into play.
Finally, she snapped her eyes open and stared directly ahead. At first, she couldn't discern anything but, as her fingertips coaxed the snow into aiding her, subtle movement could be seen.
It was a ripple in the surface. A shift in the dust. Then a parting and a lifting. Within moments, the body was before her.
She didn't recognise the Elf, but that didn't matter. Death was death. She expected an eye to peer out of the slit throat, as if searching for the killer. Examining the corpse, Cassiopeia kept her emotions in check. She would not allow herself to be upset or angry or afraid. Occasionally, deaths occurred. A Polar Bear would forget itself and attack someone, its base instincts momentarily breaking through before a sharp reminder from the intended victim sent it scurrying away. Elves could be fierce fighters when they wanted to be and not even something as formidable as a Polar Bear could easily best one.
But this was not a bear attack. The cut was clean. Precise. The blood was already freezing and small red icicles were forming along the edge of the wound. Teeth to a maw that would never bite.
She stood and walked away. Behind her, the fallen Elf sank beneath the snow, with the traces of it and her footprints disappearing too.
Should she go to her husband? Could she? What would she tell him, apart from the truth?
Nothing. She couldn't. Not yet. He had other, more important things to consider. Millions of things, and the happiness of each and every one.
She had to keep this to herself, at least for now. He would understand.
Trying to focus her thoughts, scattered on the Arctic winds as they felt, she didn't hear the sound at first. The crunch of her boots was the mental beating of her mind. The snow had served its purpose in hiding the body as well as any sign of what had happened. It must have been very recent for the blood not to have been gone too. Or perhaps the snow was keeping it there specifically for it to be discovered? Was it that cognitive to even be able to do so? She'd always thought it to be an instinctive action that it followed the wishes of Santa. Perhaps not.
But, either way, she had to find out what had happened. It clearly wasn't a natural death. Elves didn't kill other Elves. Or anyone else, for that matter. The North Pole was a place of almost exclusive happiness. Anger flared, but it was quickly extinguished. The whole spirit of Christmas was like a warm blanket that kept the cold, both emotionally and literally, at bay.
Yet, a throat had been cut.
Her footsteps had an echo. A slight off-step that only snagged her attention when she decided to put the problem aside until she was home and could properly think. Someone was behind her.
She spun round, crouching and ready to pounce should the need arise, but nobody was there. The snow couldn't have hidden someone so quickly. She scanned the terrain, but could see nothing. She needed to calm down, she told herself. She was imagining things.
Still, as she continued on her way, her hand touched her throat, making sure it was still intact.
"Why are you so quiet?" her husband asked later.
They were lying in bed, panting after frenzied lovemaking. He was red faced and she was the mottled green of Elven excitement.
"Nothing, sweetness," Cassiopeia lied. "I'm fine."
"Something is definitely wrong," Santa said, combing his beard with his fingers thoughtfully. "You're never just 'fine.' Happy, enthusiastic, energetic but never fine."
The Elf paused a fraction longer than she should have, but hoped he didn't notice.
"I was just thinking about Christmas, that's all."
"What about it?"
"Well, I'll miss you while you're gone. All that time slowing down manipulation confuses me. One night out there but a month here? I can't get used to it. And don't you ever get bored with putting on the suit?"
Santa laughed.
"Rotund and jovial were meant to give a sense of fun. It worked. The children expect it. If someone with these muscles brought them presents, beard or not, it just wouldn't have the same effect." He smiled and stroked her hair. "Besides, it keeps me warm."
"You don't feel the cold!"
"I don't mean that. The suit makes the children smile. That makes me feel warm."
"I could make you feel warm," she whispered.
"You're insatiable, girl!" he grinned.
She was, but not in this case. She wanted to stop both the questions and the thoughts. She hoped this was the answer to both.
Returning to the scene the next day, Cassiopeia closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the wind, hoping they'd impart some of their secrets to her. The winds were notoriously reticent in giving up anything, no matter the import, but she hoped they might take pity on her this time. She could just hear the hint of what she needed to know, but it wasn't loud enough for even her Elven ears to catch, as if the winds were teasing her.
"Come on!" you shouted.
"Come on what?"
Spin and crouch. She was ready to attack in a second but, as with the previous day, there was nobody to be seen.
"I was always faster than you."
Damn.
She rose, slowly, clenching her fists as she stood, ready to fight and to try and contain the hateful flutter that betrayed her feelings.
Alix.
"What do you want?"
Alix stepped around her, smiling broadly.
"To set you free," he said.
"Go away Alix."
"Cass. You know you don't mean that."
"Oh, yes I do."
Did she, though? Yes! Of course she did!
"What brings you out here?" he asked, folding his arms.
Everything about him, his stance, his stare, his tone, was filled with a confidence that was really arrogance in a makeshift disguise. It wasn't hidden well, and that seemed intentional. Alix didn't care. He knew how just standing there would make her feel. He had no reason to hide it. And he loved the fact.
"N... nothing."
"Am I making you nervous?"
"Ha! You wish!"
"Then why the stammer?"
"I just want to know what you're doing here!"
"Just... checking on something."
Checking...? On what? No! It can't be! He wouldn't! She kept her face still, not allowing him to see the tumultuous thoughts that whirled within her. He was a rogue but not a killer.
"Something?"
"Yes, I had an accident here yesterday. I cut myself. There was a lot of blood. I wanted to clean it up but it looks as if the snow has done that for me."
"You're hurt? Where?"
He looked fine. More than fine, but her suspicions kept her attention away from that.
"Don't worry, it's nothing."
Nothing. So casual. So indifferent. And he was smiling. Maybe he didn't know anything and his being there was a coincidence.
"You want to set me free?"
"I do."
"But I'm not trapped."
"You know you are, really."
"No, I don't. You mean my marriage to Santa? You're just jealous!"
"Jealous? Of him?" Alix laughed. "You were never so mistaken. But no, not that. Or not entirely.
"What then?"
"We are all – the Elves – trapped. I want to free us, and I'd like to start with you."
"You're making no sense," Cassiopeia snapped. She was angry at him, but at herself, too. She was over him and happily married. He shouldn't have an effect on her. And she shouldn't care what he had to say.
But she did.
Alix stepped forward and took her hand. She couldn't help but look into his eyes or hold her breath. She was stronger than that!
"Maybe I'm not," he said. "But it will all become clear."
With that, he dropped her hand, turned, and started to walk away. She let him go, though her jaw was tight and her resolve wavering. She pictured her husband, in full Christmas regalia, ready to deliver the gifts to the world. She pictured herself in Santa's arms. And in Alix's.
No!
She looked down, tearing her eyes from him.
"What?"
His footprints were not disappearing. She could see the edges of the imprints wavering, as if the snow was trying to force itself together and as failing to do so, but otherwise, they remained.
Alix looked back.
"You're not going to try and follow me, are you?" he asked, winking.
She took a step forward. And another. A third.
She didn't take a fourth. She managed to get a hold of herself, mentally slapping her own face to stop her being so foolish. She was the White Mother! She was not, and never had been, one to lose herself in her feelings. She was always in control. Yes, she and he had history, but history was exactly what it was. Done and gone. Buried deeper than the Elf.
"No," she said, her voice hard and dripping with enough ice to make him shiver.
She returned home and it was only behind the closed door that she allowed the trembling to overtake her. It was short lived, but it was there, and she hated herself for it.
"Where are you going?" Santa asked.
His eyes were closed and he was mostly still asleep. Midnight had passed and been replaced by two more hours, with the third eager to be passed the baton of control over the clock. Cassiopeia didn't answer but, instead, stroked his hair gently until she heard him softly snoring.
She stood in the doorway, the cold embracing rather than chilling her. She had barely slept and was trying to make sense of things. It couldn't be coincidence that Alix had been there at all, let alone just when she had arrived. Nor could it be coincidence that he had talked about spilt blood. She didn't want to admit it, but knew she had to. Though they had their differences, Elves were nice, though! They didn't commit murder! They just didn't! Such things were abundant in the world of humans, but in the North pole, it was unheard of!
The wind called to her, it's whispers louder than they had been before, but they were still not enough for her to make it out. Or perhaps she didn't want to. Perhaps she knew quite well, but...
No, wait! That wasn't the wind! That was something more!
A scream!
She ran out into the night, her bare feet skimming across the snow, hardly offering it anything to cover up. Elves were swift by nature, but Cassiopeia had always been one of the fastest. She enjoyed sports when she was younger, before her marriage changed her priorities, and consistently won.
The scream was elongated, as if holding on to ensure it was heard. She was initially surprised that she seemed to be the only one responding, though the hour had much to do with that. Plus, all homes were extremely well insulated against the permanent winter. With that taken into account, it could easily be passed off as the wind, much as she had originally.
The scream stopped abruptly. Rather than stop herself, either to reassess or falter, Cassiopeia was spurred on. To aid her, the snow hardened in front of her, anticipating her path, giving something firm to run across. With no sound to follow, and only her initial direction to go by, she had no idea how far away she might be. It couldn't be too far, even if the winds had, indeed, helped by carrying the scream along.
Then she saw it. Just disappearing beneath the surface, but with the snow still sprayed with what was clearly blood, was another body. This time, however, though there was nobody else to be seen, footprints led away from the area.
Cassiopeia thought about bringing the body of the Elf up to examine, but knew it was pointless. Apart from seeing the wound and potentially recognising the deceased, what could she do? She was unable to bring it back to life or offer any form of service. She needed to follow the trail. Find out who had done this and see if her suspicions were right.
She walked slowly. The ground undulated into dunes that the younger Elves enjoyed playing among. If the killer was still in the vicinity, she would be an easy target. The sound of her footfalls couldn't go unnoticed, so there was no point in trying to creep along, so she was as careful as she could be.
She shivered, both from the effects of the cold through her nightdress and the prospect of what she might find. As she moved, she noticed the trail she followed was slowly vanishing, the footprints dissolving as they should have done already. It was gradual at first and she was easily outpacing it, but before long, she was running. Any caution was forgotten as she hurried, and failed, to keep up.
Then it was gone.
She looked on in horror as the last print faded.
"NOOOO!" she yelled. Her tactic had changed. She wanted to be caught. "COME ON! COME GET ME!"
Nothing and nobody did. She was alone in the wilderness, far from her home. Dejected, she sighed and began her return journey.
She would find them. She knew it.
So it continued. By day, Cassiopeia worked with her increasingly concerned but increasingly busy husband. He would ask why she seemed so distracted and so tired and she would tell him that she just wanted Christmas to be a success. At night, she'd first be woken by the screams then, as the days passed, be lying awake waiting for them.
Finally, she could wait no longer. She had found her last body. Disguised her last pool of blood. Told her last lie to her husband.
She had ventured out almost as soon as Santa had been asleep. She hated leaving him. No-one, including Alix, had ever made her feel the way he did. She'd found her home. Her place. If this was Alix – and she had spent enough time searching for him – he would pay. If not, whoever else it might be, or whatever, if a beast was responsible, would also pay. She would be demanding of a high price. This was the North Pole! It was almost Christmas! Nothing could be allowed to jeopardise that.
As quickly as she could, and being more dressed for the occasion, Cassiopeia revisited the scenes of the previous murders. Perhaps there was some evidence she had missed. The snow did its best to keep the whole area pristine, so it was unlikely, but she might be lucky. She had been so thus far. Only one of the deceased Elves had been reported missing. She, being the White Mother, was the first others would come to for help and so she had been able to divert attention. The Elf had been reassigned. There was a rush on for a certain toy and she'd needed some more help.
Of course, the truth would come out. She was now embroiled deeply by the fact she had not reported the murders. She only hoped her good intentions would be seen. She wasn't trying to protect her ex lover. Not at all.
No. Not even close.
"Persistent, aren't you?"
Spin and crouch and, this time, leap. No waiting. No sizing up the opponent or giving any chances. Just pounce, teeth and nails bared.
There was a scuffle. A flurry of thrown up snow that quickly settled to barely show it had ever moved. A punch and scratch and a cry of pain.
Then Cassiopeia found herself laid on top of, and face to face with, the very person she really didn't want it to be.
"No, Alix!"
"I told you that you still love me."
He grinned and leaned in for a kiss. She didn't give his lips time to connect with hers, lest she lose her resolve. Her head went back and then sharply forward. His long nose cracked and blood spurted from his nostrils. He yelled out and pushed her off, climbing unsteadily to his feet.
"I can't... can't believe you just did that!"
"I can't believe what you're doing! Alix! Murder? Since when did you kill anyone?"
"Oh, you noticed that?"
"You know I did! You probably even wanted me to know it was you!"
"Well, not at first," the Elf said, wiping the blood from his face and letting it rip from his hand to the ground. "At first, it was an accident. Then, when I saw you, I wanted you in."
"An accident? How do you kill someone by mistake?"
"Well. I just wanted to hurt him. To shut him up. But he wouldn't. I may have gone a little too far."
"Too far? He's dead!"
"Well, there is that, I suppose."
Alix shrugged and Cassiopeia ran at him. He easily sidestepped her and, with an extended leg, sent her sprawling.
She stayed face down, ignoring the freezing touch of ice that seemed to be reaching up to...
What?
She leapt up, brushing frantically at her cheeks. Had she really felt the ground stretching up onto her face? It couldn't be. The only person who could control the elements in such a way was the White Father himself. Her husband. She turned on Alix, intent on forcing some form of truth out of him. He was watching her, his ever smiling face smug. She threw herself at him and rammed against a wall of ice that suddenly sprang up between then. She collapsed back and the shield dissolved as if melted.
"Do you want to listen?"
"Do you want to tell me why you've been killing Elves?"
"Sure, I'll do that."
"So it is you! Why?"
"It's fun!"
Cassiopeia didn't know how to respond. She hadn't expected so easy a confession, let alone such a bizarre answer. Murder was fun? She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to kill anyone else at all. The blood hadn't appalled her, but the act of letting the blood had. The taking of a life. She wasn't squeamish but it still horrified her.
"I can see you don't understand," Alix said sympathetically.
"What is there to understand? You're a murderer. An Elf has never taken a life! We live to fulfil them and to bring happiness! How could you?"
"Oh, how little you know!"
"I know enough. I know all I need to. I'll make sure you pay!"
"Are you going to tell that husband of yours? Is that what you'll do? You're missing the bigger picture. You're forgetting... No, you've forgotten your – our – heritage! You've let it be watered down. You've allowed it to be erased. Everyone has."
"What are you talking about? You're a murderer!"
"WE ALL ARE!"
No hand had connected with her, but Cassiopeia still felt as if she'd been slapped. She had no words. No feelings. The cold had managed to seep into her thick Elven skin and had frozen her from the inside out. She slumped and could do nothing else but let him speak. At least then, she'd have information. At least then, she'd have time to think about what she might do.
"You still love me, don't you?" Alix asked.
"Don't be so ridiculous!"
"I knew it. You do."
"I do not! I'm happily married! And I don't see..."
"If you won't admit the truth, how do you expect me to be honest?"
She paused. Thought. Wanted to say no. How could she still love him when her husband was so truly wonderful? How could she when she knew what he was capable of?
But, she did.
She nodded, as slightly as she could. The more she inclined her head, the more real it would be. And it couldn't be.
"Thank you. I wish I could say the feeling was mutual."
Her eyes snapped up, her heart twisting into a tightly closed fist in her chest, waiting to be ripped out by him.
He laughed.
"I'm joking! Of course I still love you!"
Cassiopeia felt sick. This wasn't happening! She needed to leave. She had to return home and wake her husband and...
"I'm only doing what comes naturally," he said softly. "You'll see."
"Natural? There's nothing natural about any of this! And how are you controlling the snow?"
"The snow? I'm an Elf! We're Elves. It's part of who we are."
"What? No we can't! Only Santa..."
"Your husband is a liar! I'm the only one who has never lied to you!"
"And that is a lie!"
Alix shrugged and nodded.
"Well, maybe. But not about this. Just let me show you!"
Cassiopeia knew she had no choice. Her emotions were battling within her and neither side was winning. She did still love him, but in a different way to her husband. With Santa, they had a warm, loving relationship. One full of magic and wonder. Alix fed another part of her. One long gone. One of baser passions and needs.
She had moved on. She had grown.
Yet she nodded.
Alix turned and began to walk away. Cassiopeia waited for as long as she thought it necessary to show she wasn't under his spell before running to catch up. She tried her best not to look at him too much or to inhale the air rich with his smell. To take her mind off the way he was intoxicating her, she looked back at their footprints. As she watched, they moved from two individual trails, into one, as if their steps needed to be together as much as they did.
She scowled and remembered just why their relationship had ended. And she remembered the blood. It helped bring her back from the brink of falling for him, but only barely.
How was he doing this to her? Why wasn't she taking him in? She had to find out what was going on, she told herself. It had nothing to do with any effect he certainly wasn't having on her.
"We're here," he said, stopping suddenly.
Cassiopeia wasn't prepared and continued forward, feeling foolish when she, too, stopped and turned to face him. He was, of course, smiling.
She looked around. They were in the centre of a large bowl that she knew well. She'd often escape there with him when they were young and in love. The memories flushed her cheeks and dried her mouth. They were both exciting and scary. It couldn't be anywhere else.
"So?" she asked, her voice offhand and casual.
"There."
The Elf pointed. At first there was nothing to see, then the snow fell away to reveal a book. Cassiopeia was confused. She picked it up and turned it in her hands. It was old, with a reindeer leather cover inset with an image of two hands. One was clearly, from the slender fingers and long nails, Elven. The other, from the ring always worn on the middle finger, could only be her husband's.
"What is this?"
"Our history and our destiny."
"I... don't understand."
"Of course you don't, and this is the problem with everyone! That's why they had to die!"
"No! Stop! Stop talking about them as if they were nothing! As if killing them was... just something to do!"
Cassiopeia beat her fists against his chest, putting little strength into it but, at least, feeling that she was fighting against him and her feelings.
"Oh, it was far from that," Alix said, doing nothing to stop her hands connecting. "They had to die. They didn't understand either."
Cassiopeia stepped away. He killed them because...? And she didn't...? Did that mean...?
"Don't worry," Alix said, caressing her cheek. "I'd never hurt you."
She didn't entirely believe him, but his promise gave her time.
"Tell me what's going on," she pleaded.
"You hold in your hands," Alix said, his tone that of someone who felt they were imparting momentous news, "The truth."
"What does that even mean? The truth about what?"
Alix sighed. Where to begin? There was so much to tell and so little time. Christmas was coming and all his efforts to stop it had resulted in a bloody mess. An enjoyable, vicious one, but a mess nonetheless. But she would be more useful to his cause than anyone, and the fact she obviously still had feelings could only be in his favour.
"About us! About Elves and our past and your husband!"
"Santa? Don't you dare bring him into this!"
"He's been in it from the very start!"
Cassiopeia felt as if she didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him. She was stirred up into a flurry inside and needed to calm herself. She was involved in something very dangerous, and every moment she didn't report it just made her more complicit. She stood, immobile, and let him speak. It was all she could do.
She shrugged. Continue, it said. I'm listening.
"It started when I was looking for you," he said, his shoulders slumping as if he was facing what he'd done and was hoping for forgiveness.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
As he looked at her, she could see sorrow and love in his eyes. She knew the look well, however. He was well practiced with it and she was done with believing him. She could feel the melting heart within her freezing once again. He was trying to use her, just as he had so many years before. She fell for it then, and she suffered for far too long afterwards, until she had met Santa and fallen in love once more. Her husband had been everything this Elf could never be.
"Don't blame any of this on me," she said. "I play no part in the horrors you have committed!"
"I didn't say you did, but it was all for you. For all of us!"
She slapped him, then, the whip of her hand too fast for him to react and the sting of the impact sharper in the chill air. He didn't react, though water rimmed his eyes.
Cassiopeia clenched both her fist and teeth to disguise the pain in her palm. It was worth it. Alix paused to let the pain subside, then continued.
"I was looking for you. I wanted you back. To make up for everything I'd put you through. To show you I still loved you."
"And why would I care?"
"I didn't know if you would. If not, then my heart, I'm sure, would have healed one day. Perhaps after my death."
"Don't be so over dramatic."
"When I discovered you were married to that charlatan, I was horrified. I was sure he'd bewitched you. Or made you his captive!"
"Santa? Are you insane?"
"You don't know what I know!"
"I'm not sure I want to!"
"Then I'll go. I'll leave and you'll never see me again."
"And let you get away with murder? No. Finish this nonsense."
"I found the book in his private quarters. It was hidden well and locked so securely I struggled to retrieve it.
Private quarters? Even Cassiopeia never ventured into Santa's office. Wife or not, it was his private place. He worked on his routes, his plans, his lists. She wouldn't dare risk messing with those. So, Alix had been to their house. Broken in. Regardless of what he might have found, that invasion was a severing of any feelings she might still have had. He wasn't looking for her. He was simply a thief and, of course, a murderer.
"You were not looking for me there."
"No. Well, at first, yes. But there was no one home. I thought I'd look around."
"And steal."
"I didn't steal this!"
"It was in my husband's office! It's not yours! You took it! Stealing!"
"You can't steal something that belongs to you anyway. That's just taking it back."
"You've never looked at a book in your life! That one certainly isn't yours!
"Not just mine..."
"I know, I know. Ours."
"Yes! I knew you'd understand!"
"I understand nothing!"
Alix sighed and reached out to her but she swatted his hand away. He dropped his arm dejectedly. This wasn't how everything was meant to work out!
"This book is our history!" he shouted, frustration edging on anger. "Everything we know is a lie and your husband is the reason!"
He stormed forward, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment. She was suddenly just one of the many Elves he had tried to convert to his way of thinking and reason with. Could he do to her...?
"This isn't us," he ranted. "This isn't who we are! We're Elves, not slave labour gift wrappers!" His eyes narrowed and his voice lowered. "Or concubines."
Cassiopeia fought to hold herself back. She had given him a chance. She's allowed him to explain the blood he had spilled. He'd thrown that chance back in her face. He would not get another.
"Explain," she said evenly.
"I told you the first death was an accident. That was the truth. I was trying to explain all of this. It escalated and... well... But then, when the next one told me I was insane and refused to listen, I didn't feel as bad. By the next time, I tried – I really tried – to explain everything, but I was waiting, I was hoping, that they'd not understand."
"But, why kill them?"
"I couldn't risk exposure. I couldn't risk Santa finding out. Or you. Not until I had enough people convinced."
"And then?"
"And then things would change! Things would be the way they were meant to. And we could be together!"
"But why keep killing? Surely there was another way?"
"Perhaps. But I enjoyed it. I enjoy it. This deal we have with your husband only masks our true nature.
"And that is?"
"Elves are a bloodthirsty race. This book explains it all, even though it turns it into propaganda, saying we were on the verge of wiping ourselves out until Santa came along."
"So, he saved us?"
"He enslaved us! He erased our history!"
"He knows about all of this?"
"Of course he does! It's all there!"
"I don't believe you."
"You must! You have no idea who you are! You want to know how I control the snow?" Cassiopeia nodded slowly. "I'm an Elf. It's inherent in all of us. You most of all!"
"Me? Why me? My power comes from Santa."
"You, because you're a descendant of Elven Lords. You're not just his wife. You're the Snow Queen! And your power comes from the fact that you're an Elf. Your husband only lifted the restrictions imposed by he himself."
Cassiopeia's face, as pale as it already was, grew whiter yet. She didn't understand. She knew nothing of the book, nor of Santa's involvement in any of this. She didn't believe it, not entirely, but there was something in his words that struck a chord. It was as if a memory was lurking in the shadows at the back of her mind and, no matter how she strained to see, it remained indistinct.
"You can feel it, can't you? You know I'm not lying."
She shook her head. No, she didn't know that. She sensed there was a grain of truth to his story, but that didn't mean she could trust him. It didn't change what he'd done.
"You're fighting it. Of course you are. It's always the same."
"What do you mean?"
"All those I've told. They could all feel that I was telling the truth. They just didn't want to believe it."
"So, tell me the rest. Convince me. Make me believe my husband, and the one man who makes the world happy every year, is a fraud."
"I told you I enjoyed killing, yes?"
"Yes. You disgust me."
"Only because you've been brainwashed. Conditioned. This book tells everything. We were a violent people. We enjoyed the taste of blood and flesh and the sound of screams. It was who we were. Unfettered by rules. Uncaring of feelings. We lived how we wished and our only issues were how depraved our desires might be."
"It sounds disgusting! That's not how Elves lived!"
"It is! And it's not disgusting. Don't you see? It's liberating!"
"You're insane."
"No, my eyes have simply been opened."
"But we're not like that! Nothing like it! We're a peaceful people. Loving and hard working."
"Only because your husband took our spirit away from us. He changed who we were. He made us soft. But we're not, not really. I've proven it!"
"How? By killing?"
"No! By resurrecting our way of life! By remaking us! All the others were like you. Horrified. So I had to kill them, but it felt so good! And they tasted... I can't describe it!"
Cassiopeia backed away. Alix was ranting. Pacing. Gesticulating wildly. She saw the flash of metal hidden in his sleeve. Of course. The others had failed to be won over by this insanity. He had removed the evidence. She would be next.
"What are you doing?" Alix cried. "I couldn't kill you! I love you! You love me! Join me and we can rule the world, taking the Elves out of this captivity and back to our former glory!"
"But I don't want to kill. I don't want to taste blood!"
"Only because you haven't yet!"
"And I would prefer it to stay that way."
There was no mistaking that voice. The deep tones that could resonate across the entire North Pole if necessary. Deep enough to fill the black boots he traditionally wore. Cassiopeia's heart lifted as she turned to see Santa striding towards them. He wore his suit, the uniform of his position. It never failed to thrill her, even though she had asked if it ever bored him. The magical distortion that made him appear larger than he actually was, wasn't active and sill he was an imposing figure.
"Why don't you let her make her own choices?" Alix sneered.
"My wife always makes her own decisions."
"It's a pity the same can't be said of Elves everywhere."
"The choice was made long ago. I forced no hands. I, in fact, held them."
"And pulled us to your will!"
"Not at all. Your ancestors came to me. They had to convince me. I did what was necessary because I was asked to."
Santa's voice was level against Alix's manic sounding accusations. Cassiopeia watched the exchange in shock. It was true! Alix was right! Why did no-one know this? Why had he hidden it from her?
"Well, the truth is out now, and Elves will regain their true identity!"
"I can't allow that."
"What are you going to do, kill me like you killed our history?"
"You are the murderer here, not me."
"You lied to me?"
Santa looked to see tears in his wife's eyes. He didn't lie. He just didn't tell her. It wasn't the same thing.
"No, I just kept the knowledge to myself."
"What's the difference?"
"Yes, what's the difference, oh Great White Father? Tell us!" Alix was smirking. He had no further need to try and convince people who just didn't want to believe. Now, everyone would know and could be free to tear the world apart if they so desired!
"It was the past. We hid..."
"You hid!" Alix yelled.
"We. The Elves and myself. We found a better way! It saved the Elves!"
"So, we really are as bloodthirsty as Alix says?"
"No. You're not. Well," Santa nodded towards Alix, "not all."
"But how do you know?" Cassiopeia hated the thought that her ancestors were such savages, and the instincts were still within her waiting to be awoken. She loved her life and the way the Elves were perceived by the world's children. She wanted her own perception of her race to be untainted.
"Because, Cass, I know you. I know every aspect of you. I know your smile and your moods and your zest for life. It's not in you."
"Don't listen to him," Alix spat, standing between them. "He's lied to you all this time. To all of us. We need to end this slavery and this... suffocation!"
Santa put his hand on Alix's shoulder to move him so he could speak to his wife. Alix smiled, then spun around, grabbing the White Father and pushing him forcibly. Santa stumbled, surprised, and fell back and the Elf was immediately upon him. The hidden blade was in his hand as if it had always been there and was pressed against Santa's throat.
"This will be an end to your lies," he hissed. "An end to captivity and a beginning to our resurrection."
"Alix, don't!" Cassiopeia made to run forward but the snow beneath her feet began to suddenly move, making it impossible for her to remain steady. For every step she took forward, the snow slid her back.
"Don't interfere, Cass" Alix warned. "It has to be this way."
"Why?" She was screaming at him now. She could see a trace of blood on Santa's neck as the knife broke the skin.
"This is madness," Santa gasped.
Every time he moved, he could feel the edge of the blade stinging his throat. From their forgotten history in crafting weapons, Elves had never lost their talent of producing the strongest, sharpest blades. For so long, it was used for cooking implements and the runners on skies or the sleigh. There was no mention or thought of using it for this. Until now. He wondered if he could force the Elf off and take the blade from him, but he knew it was useless. Santa was in good shape, but Elves had a sinewy strength that made their muscles feel like the steel that was currently threatening to slice into him. He might succeed, but he would very likely be severely injured in the attempt. He had Christmas to think about. All those children. He couldn't let them down and he'd do anything to ensure that he didn't.
Even if that meant losing the love of his life to this Elf. He could see the way she looked at him. Cassiopeia had never mentioned any relationships before they had been together, and if the obvious connection between the pair was as strong as he suspected, he wondered at its omission. She must have had reason for not telling him but, now, he couldn't chastise her for keeping secrets.
Not when such a secret could destroy everything he and their ancestors had fought so hard for.
"Agreed," said Alix, panting. He was kneeling on Santa's chest with his free hand clenched in case a punch to the face was needed. "And I mean to stop it!"
"No!" Santa retorted. "What you're doing is madness! You have a good life! Why change that!"
"Because it's not the truth!"
"The truth is whatever you make it! Your people are happy. Why not allow them that?"
"Because it's not their choice! It's yours!"
"I've told you..."
"Enough!"
Alix drew back, the knife spinning in his hand to point straight down. He took a sharp breath and slammed into...
Ice!
"Wha...?"
Alix turned to Cassiopeia, anger narrowing his eyes to gashes in his face. She was standing with her arms outstretched towards them.
"You?"
"Me!"
Alix pulled the knife from the white shield that had appeared between him and his intended victim and pushed his hand against the sheet of ice. His brow furrowed and he began to moan as he tried to melt the ice himself. His efforts were futile and he jumped up, turning on Cassiopeia.
"I thought you were on my side! I thought you understood. I thought you loved me"
"I did love you, but I'll never understand!"
"But he lied to you!"
"With good reason! He saved us! We owe him!"
"I owe him nothing!"
"Cass, get this off me!"
Santa was struggling against the ice blanket that wrapped around him. Even his own powers were ineffective against it and he felt as if he were suffocating.
She waved her hand and, instantly, he was freed. He pushed himself to his feet, but Alix leapt at him once more. Cassiopeia clapped loudly and another icy shield sprang up in around her husband. This one, however, was not smooth as the first had been. This had long pointed shards thrusting outwards.
Alix couldn't stop himself. He hit the wall, impaling himself on the icicles.
There was a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, then the Elf slid back onto the snowy floor. Blood pooled around him. His face was down and he was unmoving.
"Careful" Santa shouted. "Let me out of here!"
Cassiopeia paid no heed. She ran to her former lover and lifted his head to cradle him.
"I'm sorry!" she cried.
She closed her eyes and sobbed into the prone form of the Elf, oblivious to the shouts of warning from her husband. When she felt movement, at first she didn't realise what it was. Then the sensation filtered through her grief and she opened her eyes, relief flooding through her.
Again, at first, something didn't quite register. Alix was glaring at her, furious. His hand gripped the knife and he was lifting it to her neck.
She pushed him away, scrambling backwards. He stabbed into the snow, gaining purchase to pull himself up.
"You should have listened," Alix panted.
He ran at her, not giving her time to react. He should not have been able to move. His injuries were too serious!
They fell to the ground together, he trying to impale his blade into any part of his former love, he desperately trying to stop him and escape. His blood was spraying everywhere from his wounds, but he seemed to not notice them. One large droplet flew across her face. She blinked and turned her head to avoid it making contact, and another landed directly in her mouth.
She wanted to spit, but an innate need made her swallow the coppery fluid. Everything froze for an eternal heartbeat. In that heartbeat, centuries of depravity and history and lust exploded within Cassiopeia. When her heart thudded again, her eyes glazed, her body stiffened and then a whirlwind was unleashed.
Santa could only watch, thankful to be behind the wall of ice. His wife became an animal. Worse than an animal. She became a tsunami of fury. A deluge of flailing arms. Ripping nails. Tearing teeth.
###
"Easy, my love."
Cassiopeia opened her eyes. She was laying in her bed. Santa was beside her, stroking her hair.
"What happened? Why am I in bed?"
"You had a little fall in the workshop. You work too hard!"
She rubbed her forehead. She couldn't remember. She felt sick and so exhausted!
Santa stood and kissed her.
"Don't worry," he said, smiling. "Soon be Christmas. Get some rest"
He turned and walked away. He was carrying something. A... a book?
Cassiopeia stared at the book.
And licked her lips.
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