Christmas Road
Clack, clack, the horse hooves went. Clack, clack, the myriad flagstones on an endless path forward. Barrages of snow melted against the wet marble, the blizzard pushed the world northeast. Once more, the rider grabbed the reins and steered the staggering horse left. Clack. No, turn more left. Clack. The rattling of the last candy canes inside the small pouch on his belt was drowned out by the snowstorm.
They kept telling him how warm the fires would be. How things were different that far.
Where did the encroaching clouds hide the sky? Bring it back. The howling wind tightened his hood to cling against his skin. Frost muffled his mouth. “Not yet, Bee”, the rider whispered as he ruffled the stallion’s braided mane. Two braids tangled together, he hadn’t done them as well as Penchant had taught. “Can’t rest yet.” Clack. The horse reared its head and corrected the trajectory to travel up the hill. Flakes of snow dotted between and over the horse’s spots of brown. Blizzard froze them not. The world was a small, stormy white sea, the road through it was all the two could see. Darkness beyond a snowy veil. Black and white.
A figure rose in their vision in the rhythm of their climb, about to face them at the hilltop. Could have been a short obelisk. Could have been a dormant sapling. A free hand it raised, for the other held a candy cane. “Hail and halt!” the figure shouted, “Wait… You are brethren! Friend, it is me!” For it was an elf with a heavy jacket and rhymes close to themself.
The rider hailed back and halted Bee on the track. “Why are you still outside?” he shouted to the elf, “Our home has it warm within.” He held firmer on the reins as he leaned forward and scanned the elf for signs of unwitting cold.
“The last of us I’m expecting”, the elf replied, “for the weather slows the mightiest! I’ll wait to serve as their guide in the dark.” The candy cane was still intact, a snack for the journey back. As the elf attempted an earnest smile, the pointy hat slid off and had to be caught. Sighing while correcting it, the elf continued: “Join the fun, the home is for all, even those on the run.”
The rider shook his head before he knew why: “The road goes on to the bay, and I didn’t intend to stay.” He turned his face to shield it from the snow, hesitating to find the kind words for those who he’d stayed with for so long. “Your kinship was always fair, I swear, and the road from bay to hill is as long as hill to bay. I’ll return, I’ll know I can.” At least all that was true. From his small pouch, he pulled his second last candy cane. Two was too much for one. “When they arrive, welcome them with this”, he said as he handed it, “and they’ll know they weren’t too late.”
The elf grumblingly reached to accept another cane. “It won’t be sweeter where you’re going but thank you all the same.”
Bee watched the exchange, but lacklustre in speech of its own, carried him on. The rider waved, the elf waved, and soon they were gone. Clack, clack… down the hill clackclackclack.
A fence bordered the path, to stop the adventures of the wild wild foal. Hadn’t stopped Bee when the two met. Long lost were those years.
For hours they went through the winter plain. Marble turned to dirt drowning in snow.
***
The wind never gave ground, pushing ceaselessly. Bee trudged in the slush piling on the road. He let go of the reins and sighed. The bay was still so far. Yet the two must go on. Bee slowed down, wondering why the rider was leaning strangely back. His hood had fallen, snow slowly gathered in his hair. Eyes drooped, ears numb.
One cautious clack of a hoof escalated to three more. Bee entered a sporadic gallop. Saw the hut before he did. Still not far enough, but they both had to stop, just for a minute. Bee could tell. The horse steered off the path, finding refuge from the wind by the awning on the familiar hut’s side.
The hut’s resident peered from the window, alarmed by the noise that cut through the blizzard. How could one forget those eyes? Recognizing the visitors, Penchant opened the door and stared at him.
“You’re back”, Penchant slowly said.
Bee nodded as if to say hi, but the rider reacted even slower: “I’m just passing by.”
“You brought no gifts”, Penchant said, “You always bring gifts.”
“I’m sorry”, he said, only partly about the gifts.
“Did you just forget?”
“There’s more than just gifts.” He brought one leg up to prepare to dismount, adjusting on the saddle.
Penchant didn’t flinch from the doorway, only sparing a glance once Bee neighed in confusion. “Your companion is exhausted”, Penchant noted.
“Then consider your gift returned”, he said as he jumped on the crunching snow at the edge of the awning. He walked with his own feet, pulling the hood back up as the awning’s fabric ran out above him, while Penchant said none, simply correcting the stallion’s braid tangled by the snowstorm. The horse remained, turning its strong neck to glance at each in turn before the misty horizon cut them apart. A better place for his only companion, but not for him.
He wasn’t far enough yet.
***
Along the path, he crossed the plain. He checked his frozen flask, the water refusing to leak out. Shivering with each step, knowing progress only from the approaching forest first in his right, soon on both sides.
The open road made this all much more excruciating. The blizzard hadn’t gotten any worse this day, but neither was it better.
From the corner of his left eye, he saw shelter by a cliffside, free from the hail. Off the path he wandered, to breathe. To breathe without frost filling his mouth as he placed his hand against the cold, uneven stone, jagged points brushing against the glove. The barrage of snow couldn’t break through the other side. A minute passed, and he allowed his fingers to run across the rock as he strode forward, making sure the cliff stayed parallel to the road.
Like this, he continued for an hour. A lone, lost wolf growled at him from a distance forward, cut off from its pack. It was using the same shelter as he, shaking its fur to get rid of the snow. He kept an eye on it until it turned tail at a corner and ran back to the woodland. The cliff turned the same way, disappearing into the midst of the pine trees.
He took a few steps away from the cliff and stopped as the wind started pushing him again. The forest dwindled, broadening the view. There was nothing in the horizon. Nothing yet. Instinctively, he checked his pouch and pulled the hood tighter before trudging on.
An old wall was bordering the path here, sturdier than the previous fence. No cows grazing on the other side. Maybe there weren’t any here, even during summer. He wished he knew more of this place. Of the bay. All he had were the memories of others. Those who had been there. He wished he’d asked for a clearer picture.
Nothing too much. Just something more tangible than praises.
He stubbed his toe on a loose rock jutting at the edge of the road. Pain froze his movement before the frost did. He stumbled while moving his other leg. The wall stopped his fall, and he scrambled to pull himself straight.
How many steps would it still take?
Would you turn back if you knew?
His hood had slipped down again, and he briefly rested his arm against the stone wall, slightly smoother than the cliff. Cold breath drifted from his opening mouth. “No”, he muttered.
He tried counting his steps but gave up after the road wound downhill. The slippery slope required all of his attention. Twice he fell, but he slid closer to the bottom on each occasion.
***
Once he realized that the hill was over, he looked back, but couldn’t see where he started. Much less the first hill he’d climbed, back when Bee was around. He turned forward and spotted the light in the distance. Further than he could see before. The blizzard must be calming.
Still watching his footing on the even terrain, he slogged the final leg of his journey. Icy masts of docked galleons appeared in the horizon. The glowing fire of the tavern flickered in the window. Muffled music inside. A band must be playing.
Five steps should take to that bench.
It had been placed to overview the pasture he had passed. Fine guild artisan carvings on the wood, distinctly curved compared to the blocky approach of the elves. He was on a terrace, the tavern roof extending to cover it.
He slouched down to the bench. Leaned his back against the wall. Reached for his pouch. Almost ripped it open. He sank his teeth into the candy before the drifting snow would get to it. The sweetness filled every inch of his mouth, like he hadn’t eaten for days.
As he was chewing the hooked half of the cane, a distant door slammed open. Heavy footsteps. A burly figure turned the corner and looked down on him.
“Ah”, she said with a deep voice that must have been tempered by decades of shouting, “You’re not a thief. Welcome to my bay.”
He sat unmoving, apart from a quick swallow to clear his mouth. Even so, he didn’t say a word.
She tilted her scarred head. A large burn mark sprawled across the right side of her neck. “Our food isn’t that colourful”, she said, “You must have been gifted by the elves.” She didn’t approach him from the corner, and he could hear the cheery strings of a harp playing through the open door.
“…”
“Don’t keep me in the dark any more than the blizzard does”, she said, “Grace me with knowledge: who are you?”
He had to cough to get the words out. “I don’t belong anywhere. I don’t own a house, at least.”
“Very well”, she admitted while glancing down at the dirt, “although that’s not what I asked.”
“How do you know I’m not a thief?”
“A thief wouldn’t be munching on candy within earshot of their target”, she said with a grin.
He turned his head away and tightened his grip on the cane.
After enough silence, she continued with a sharp voice: “Did you come from the north?”
“…Yes, I wanted to go south.”
“Well, careful on the ice. Your weight should still manage it”, she said and slowly turned, probably wondering if the conversation was worth it.
He shook his head. “I’m already south. I’m here.”
“That bench isn’t for rent. Come on in!” she gestured around the terrace corner with her arm that could lift at least two and a half barrels full of mead.
He shifted just a bit. “I don’t have any coin.”
“It’s Christmas, stranger. Why are you content to just sit there?”
Gradually, he stood. Followed her in, surrounded by music and warmth. He finished the candy cane by the counter as the band was reaching a crescendo.
It used to be so much easier when he knew what tomorrow would bring. Every day had been the same. Looking over his shoulder, it seemed as if the whole port was gathered here. Couldn’t have been, of course. Yet every table was full, most also brimming with laughter.
The scarred tavern keeper walked behind the counter and raised an eyebrow, causing her burnt neck muscles to stiffen. Even the heat was dangerous. She almost said something but stopped herself once he finally realized to read the menu and place his order.
Photo by Aleksi Jakonen.
