Of Christmas Past

                Gumdrizzle rapped lightly on the dark wooden door, a hue not normally seen around The Shop. There, the aesthetic was molded to an ideal mood; every scent, smell, and sight designed to induce constant cheer. The door leading out to the reindeer stables, for example, was a vibrant oak that conjured memories of walking through a forest Gumdrizzle had never formed himself. The images, like all his knowledge of the greater world, was imparted through the gift of his surroundings. It was the ideal way for elves to learn before seeing the harsh world of humanity for themselves.

                This door told no such jolly tales. It was old, and spoke to a time before the shape of the current season. In the long history of this land, the ideas of the worship had changed many a time. Gone were days of switches and sacks, of dark counterparts, even coal seemed to be on its way out in the last few years. To draw power from the directionless notions of the humans meant being bound to their shifting perspective. Immortality, but only on their ever-changing terms.

                Jerking his hand away from the door, Gumdrizzle tried to leave behind the impressions he’d gotten as well, flashes of times he’d never been around for. He was a newer elf, having only tumbled out of a snowbank some scant handful of years ago. Perhaps that was why the older, wiser elves had declined this mission. When she asked the others to venture forth, they suddenly found projects and excuses to busy themselves with. All carols of adventure turned to hymns on the glory of a safe, cozy fire. Gumdrizzle was still new enough to feel the fancy of the unknown’s call, though after only the first door he wondered if this might not be a mistake.

                “Come in then, can’t leave the cake-poppin’ door open. It’s a tundra out there.” The voice was harsh, a strange anomaly in these lands, and raspy, as though the owner had gobbled down an entire case of bluebazzle-crunch-pops without taking so much as a single pause for much needed buttermilk. “I’m in the back.”

                The hall Gumdrizzle walked down was unlike any he’d ever seen. No green or red wallpaper, no flecks of glitter or tinsel, not even the smell of freshly baked cookies. Mostly, it was just old. A wood cabin built around the same time as that door, littered with shelves holding trinkets of times past. The top hat with a small bit of snow was oddly charming, enough so that Gumdrizzle began to reach for it, until remembering where he was. Wasting no time, he all-but hopscotched down to the room at the end.

                Sitting in a chair much too big for an elf, sat Cane. He looked like the others Gumdrizzle knew, except there was a very human-ness to him. The way he sat, the flicker of his eyes darting toward the doorway, his shift in position; it was clear suspicion. Even if he’d never mat an actual human, Gumdrizzle had been gifted countless memories from Delivery Night where he saw their alert, careful eyes waiting to catch a peek of the generous intruder reverse-burgling their homes. Suspicion was a human trait, as Gumdrizzle had been taught. Elves had no need for such things, the had no unknowns to wonder about. Just as their leader, the shapes and roles they filled were guided by humanity’s current collective envisionment.

                “Hello, I’m Gumdrizzle.”

               “Guess you’re the new one they wrangled into coming out.” Cane shut the book in his hand, strange images on the cover, pools of red like The Suit covering the humans pictured. “Has it come time for the annual tradition already? Tell Head Elf thanks, but no thanks. I’m happy the way I am. I don’t want to join you.”

                Gumdrizzle was taken aback, he hadn’t known Lollipoppa made a habit of sending out elves here. Today, it wasn’t a matter for concern, though.

                “I wasn’t sent by the Head Elf.”

                Like an unexpected loaf of gingerbread, Gumdrizzle felt the full weight of Cane’s attention fall upon him. The harsh voice came out long and light. “Interesting. Not Lollipoppa. Are you here to invite me to the Delivery Night Banquet at all?”

                “The… banquet?” Gumdrizzle’s whole head felt enlarged at the rate his eyes expanded. “You’re expecting an invitation to the Delivery Night Banquet? That’s only for the top working elves of the year, along with a few special guests.”

                “And retired legends.” His eyes scanned Gumdrizzle, searching for some variable and coming up short. “They really didn’t tell you anything about old Candifer Cane, did they? I was the best, you know.”

                That seemed like one hard peppermint to swallow, until Gumdrizzle remembered that he was in Cane’s private quarters away from the main bustle, something no other elf in all The Pole possessed. Besides, everyone knew elves couldn’t lie; they barely managed a coherent fib.

                “How many was your record?”

                Cane’s expression shifted, momentarily harsh and pinched, then bemused. “How many what?”

                “How many toys did you make in a day? What was your high score?”

                “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Cane slid down from the chair, leaving his book behind. “None, is the answer to your question. I never made a toy in my life. When the job was more complex, there was greater need for division of labor. Elves didn’t just make toys, there were those of us on all kinds of projects. Who do you think enchanted all those visions and memories into The Shop, anyway?”

                Despite the question, Cane didn’t pause to await an answer. “Our numbers were larger, even though were such fewer children. Such jobs we had. Some as happy as the work you still do. Some that called for elves of a different temperament. And there was me. No title, no official job description, just one of the assets called when there’s a problem that needs fixing.”

                Gazing at his shelves of mementos, Cane’s mind seemed to drift. “For a stretch, there were more of us. Then the times changed, and eventually it was just me. Never been sure if there was some fledging bit of humanity that remembered the legends of old, or I was too stubborn to change. When you’re living as a hermit, the difference doesn’t especially matter.” Cane’s reverie ended as the entirety of his attention returned to Gumdrizzle.

                “Which brings us to you, my visitor. Head Elf didn’t send you. You’re not here to invite me to the banquet. It’s the six days until Delivery Night. If someone sent for me, I can only imagine things have gone wrong.”

                “Not that I was told. All she said was that someone found a huge broken hunk of dark ice a half-mile away from The Shop, and that Cane had to be notified.”

                Cane’s whole body went still as rock candy, the details meaning far more to him than Gumdrizzle. “So it’s a missive from the missus then. Dark ice, you say, like someone spilled ink all over it?”

                Happy to finally grasp some part of what was happening, Gumdrizzle nodded enthusiastically. “That’s what the piece she showed me looked like.”

                “Ah.” Cane meandered over to a large chest near the back of the room, kicking it open with a practice swing of the foot. “Tell me, Gumdrizzle, do you like gifts?”

                “Of course! Everyone loves presents.” The thud of the item hit him so heavily, Gumdrizzle nearly failed to catch it. He’d seen toy versions of these, although not terribly often, wooden models of most things had long-since fallen out of style.

                “Glad to hear it. That’s a crossbow, it’s your first gift.” Cane was still rattling around in the truck, until he pulled out a long silver pole with what appeared to be a hooked blade at the end. “Your second is knowledge: a scene like that means we’ve got a Yule Lad loose. One is bad, all of them is worse, and if they reach their mother… well, it’s good thing there’s gift number three.”

                “What’s that?” Gumdrizzle asked.

                “Training. They love to sneak up, so I need someone else watching my back. In exchange, I’ll teach you some of the old elf ways. Never hurts to have a backup, especially considering how many ancient nightmares are sealed under that ice.” Cane added a buckler to his arm and a dagger to his waist before taking a crossbow of his own. “Let’s get some ammo and head out there. If we don’t stop him soon, he’ll have friends.”

                Watching Cane burst from the door, hooked poll leading the way, Gumdrizzle fully began to understand why the other elves were so adamant about avoiding this meeting. It also marked the first time he realized that elves could be assholes. There was nothing to it, though. He’d been given an order, and this was where it led. Disobeying certainly wouldn’t make things better.

                Holding his crossbow at the ready, Gumdrizzle charged out into the night air, first steps on a new path that was truly unknown.