Chunks of ice flew in every direction as Nick waved his chainsaw around a large block of frozen water. Some people dealt with stress by taking up yoga. Others tried to get more sleep. And a few even avoided caffeine or alcohol. But the person who was now responsible for pulling off Christmas without a hitch for the entire planet had chosen to pursue ice sculpting in the manliest way imaginable in order to steady his nerves.
He was finally getting the hang of it, too. No longer did his swans look like deformed ducks or the dolphins resemble fat tuna. Those were actually the easy designs he had started with months ago, and after gradually mastering the technique, he'd moved on to more intricate patterns. Snowflakes were his favorites because he could use his imagination to come up with endless forms, but dragons, pharaohs, and even giant palm trees were all fair game. Lately, however, his world revolved around Christmas in every sense of the phrase.
Ten-foot tall nutcracker soldiers and life-sized reindeer dotted the forest clearing around him, interspersed with candy cane bouquets and armies of snowmen. He'd even carved a traditional Santa climbing down a chimney for the heck of it. The translucent ice glistened in the moonlight, as if intently watching its creator work on his latest masterpiece.
Tonight's project was Nick's most ambitious yet. Last night, he'd dreamt of tropical waters full of colorful fish. The vividness of the dream had nagged at him all day, finally inspiring the underwater scene he was now carving. The base recalled coral, anchoring a giant clamshell on top of which a beautiful mermaid sat. Her face had been both the easiest and hardest to sculpt. It was easy because Noelle's perfect features were etched into his mind after thinking of them every single day since she'd left. But it was also hard because the recollection brought more pain than joy from knowing that she was gone for good.
After rounding off a sharp corner to shape the mermaid's tail, Nick stepped back to admire his work. The chainsaw in his hands also appeared to need a break as the engine sputtered to a stop, indicating it had run out of fuel. Putting the tool on the ground, Nick patted the frozen little pieces ice dust off his gloves before also shaking the cold chips from his beard.
The facial hair was a relatively new addition to his look. He'd reluctantly grown the thick, dark scruff out during the fall months when he'd finally accepted his fate. If he was going to be forced to play Santa, he might as well look the part. Of course, he was following his father's lead on the fashion front instead of the popular culture image of the 'jolly old elf,' which saved him from packing on the kilos or stuffing his coat. A few years earlier, the Americans had called the style "lumbersexual" as if they'd invented the look. Funny enough, his Viking ancestors were already rocking it more than a thousand years earlier without all the hoopla.
Nick smiled to himself, ready to get the gas canister from under a nearby pine when an unusual feeling made him pause. There was no obvious reason for his hesitation. The air was still, the night quiet, and the smell of burning logs in faraway fireplaces familiar. Yet something was different, and it made the hair on Nick's arms stand on end. An energy unlike any other he'd felt since that powerful ceremony at the lake that had banished his cousin last year had just flowed across the forest. He was sure of it.
The frantic yelling of the tonttu in an ancient Norse dialect drew his attention to the dark woods. The little men emerged one-by-one, but because they were all jabbering at once, Nick could hardly understand any of what they were trying to say. Between the thirteen of them, he caught 'impossible,' 'unexpected,' and 'toilet brush,' although that last one he may have misunderstood.
"Stop!" Nick yelled, throwing up his hands to get the gnomes' attention. But as they quieted down, a double-ping sounded from his pocket.
Pulling out his cell phone, Nick checked the text message. It was from Ronja, and as they had previously agreed for this circumstance, it was short and to the point: They're back.
Nick looked up from his phone, his gaze falling on the gnomes before he smiled. "They're back," he said, echoing the text. "They're back!"
The tonttu—happy that he'd finally understood what they were saying even though they had little to do with actually delivering the news—jumped up and down while clapping. Nick, however, didn't take time to celebrate just yet. After tying the chainsaw to the back of his snowmobile, he whistled for Otso and climbed on the vehicle. The dog ran out from between the trees and jumped onto the space between Nick and the steering wheel right as he turned the ignition. Revving the throttle a little to warm the engine, he put the machine in gear and pulled out of the clearing.
The ride back into town seemed to take forever, although he knew it was less than ten minutes. The whole way there, Nick struggled to keep his attention on navigating the icy roads instead of trying to rationalize his father's return. What had changed since last Christmas Eve? Why return now? And where had he and the reindeer been all of that time? Nick shook his head to clear his mind. He'd get those answers soon enough, and there was no reason for further speculation. It definitely wasn't worth running into a frozen birch tree for.
When they finally arrived in front of the concert hall, Otso jumped off first, not even waiting for the snowmobile to come to a complete stop. Nick followed the dog's lead, leaving the keys in the ignition before taking the steps two at a time up to the entrance. Slip-sliding across the lobby (snowy boots and paws on a slick wooden surface will do that) got them to elevator, which took the duo into the restricted basement area.
Although it was late evening, the control room was fully staffed. But unlike during the last eleven months when it was a hub of dour expressions and feelings of hopelessness, tonight the mood was downright festive.
A bottle pop greeted Nick as he joined Ronja at the master console in the center of the room. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a technician pouring sparkling cider (no alcohol while on duty!) into a paper cup. But when he looked at the display screen on the wall, there was still just a projection of northeastern Canada where Sinter Klaas was last tracked.
"Where are they?" he asked, nodding to the blank map. "I thought you'd found them."
Ronja giggled. "Oh, sorry," she said before tapping on the keyboard. "We have. They're just a bit off from where we expected."
As Nick watched, the view on the digital globe shifted southward at least three thousand miles, moving from the Labrador Sea to the Caribbean before settling on a familiar, pulsing red dot.
"The US Virgin Islands?" Nick asked as he recognized the location. "What are they doing there? And why aren't they moving? Shouldn't they have returned straight home?"
Ronja shook her head. "I don't know. But we have strong signals on thirteen reindeer and two adult humans in the vicinity of the sleigh."
Nick furrowed his brows. "Two? Who's the other—"
He didn't get to finish the question, cut off in surprise as the location indicator suddenly disappeared. It didn't take long for it to return, now blinking over Newfoundland again.
"What the . . .?" Ronja blurted out as she centered the map on the new location. It didn't stay there for long.
Just like on Christmas Eve when the traditional circumnavigation took place, Sinter Klaas' sleigh began to appear and disappeared on the well-established route. Dropping in and out of the tracking system's view, it moved from north to south and from east to west as it seemingly resumed its travels across North and South America.
"He's finishing the journey," Nick said, first sounding astonished and then following the observation with a laugh. He was elated to confirm that his father had not only been found, but that he appeared to be safe and on his way back home. But he also now had a little hope—for the first time in many months—that he would possibly see Noelle again. Because while it made more sense for her to be in New York City this time of year, she was also the only person with a connection to the Caribbean that he knew who could have possibly gained a spot on the sleigh.
Now all they had to do was wait. Thankfully, Nick was one of the most patient people on Earth, but by the time the blinking dot approached the International Date Line in the South Pacific, even he was anxiously shifting from one foot to the other, waiting for the big finale. Just as Tuvalu was the first place to experience Christmas Day, it's neighbor Howland Island just five hundred miles to its north-east was the last. And this year, that distinction was truly massive because not only had nearly twenty-four hours passed between the two visits, but this time, it had actually been more than eleven months!
As the sleigh popped in and out of the last island on its journey, everyone in the control room held their breath. Then, a collective gasp rang out as the blinking indicator lit up over Lapland, half a second before a muffled boom shook the entire building.
"Now they're back," Ronja said triumphantly, taking off her headset and rising from her console.
Nick didn't need further prompting. Rounding the row of computers, he ran out of the room, up the stairs (who could wait for the elevators?), and cut across the stables. Pushing the barn doors open, he was momentarily blinded by the spotlights aimed at the sleigh's launch pad.
As his vision adjusted, he saw a hoard of antlers waving, a heap of hooves stomping, and a collection of fuzzy noses blowing out clouds of warm air. Behind the gaggle of reindeer was the familiar sleigh, atop which his father stood. He looked none worse for the wear, smiling under his silver beard with his hands on his hips as he surveyed his landing spot. But one thing was different about him, and it took Nick a few seconds to realize that Sinter's usual gold and silver-spun leather longcoat was missing. Instead, his father stood in just thick trousers and a wool sweater, until a girl with dark dreadlocks piled in a messy bun pushed him out of the way.
"Excuse me," Noelle said urgently before leaning over the side of the sleigh. Luckily, she got the trajectory just right to avoid vomiting directly on the chassis. The snow on the ground wasn't so fortunate.
"Eww," the sound of disgust echoed in unison from behind Nick as the others from the control room emerged just in time to see the gross display. But Nick didn't care about a little sleigh-sickness. Waiting for Noelle to finish and wipe her mouth with a tissue Sinter handed her, he ran to the base of the sleigh (avoiding the pile of puke, of course).
"So you were my mermaid," Nick said in astonishment at the girl from his dreams standing in a tiny bikini protected from the Scandinavian cold by his father's coat on her shoulders.
Noelle laughed nervously at his puzzling statement. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I mean, I had a feeling you'd be back, and now you're here," he said, reaching his arms towards her.
Noelle immediately complied, jumping into Nick's grip, but instead of helping her to the ground, he cradled her in his arms.
"She's responsible for getting us back, you know," Sinter proudly yelled to the crowd before also jumping off the sleigh.
Nick stared into Noelle's eyes, their faces barely separated by a thin wisp of air. "Oh, I have no doubt," he whispered before pulling the smiling girl in for a kiss. He definitely wanted to hear the entire story, but there were more important things they needed to catch up on, first.