The Legend of Holly Claus
Astonishing, astonishing that this flimsy piece of paper with a child’s scrawl had the power to change everything.
Chapter Two
WHERE, YOU MIGHT ask yourself, is the Land of the Immortals? Don’t bother to get up, for you won’t find it in your atlas or spinning about on the globe. It’s true that there are a few—a very few—maps that show this land. There was one in Amsterdam in 1459. And another in Madrid in 1622. But as soon as their existence is rumored, the maps seem to disappear. Only one person has ever claimed that he saw such a map. His name was Helvetius Erst, and because of him, one of the great legends of Christmas was born.
It all began on a cold March day in 1792, when Helvetius was seven. An old bookseller who lived nearby called the boy into his shop. With great ceremony he locked the door, closed the curtains, and swore the child to secrecy. Then he opened a massive wardrobe and pulled forth a glowing sheet of paper. Helvetius recalled later that it depicted a vast plain of ice: frozen seas encircling empty snowbound lands and towering glaciers. But there, in the middle of the white expanse, was a brilliant circle of green labeled Terra Immortalium, the Land of the Immortals. Helvetius asked many questions, but the old bookseller seemed to regret his impulse and quickly whisked the map away. Several days later he disappeared, taken, according to local gossips, by trolls. When the boy next returned to the shop, he found that the very bricks of the building had melted away into nothingness.
Helvetius Erst spent the next eighteen years trying to find the Land of the Immortals. Tantalizing rumors came his way: it was in the Himalayas, on the steppes of Siberia, sunk beneath the Caspian Sea, at the end of a bridge that appeared once each century on the northernmost crag of the Faeroe Islands. At long last he ventured into the Arctic Circle, pushing across hundreds of miles of ice in the hopes that one day he would see a thin slash of green breaking through the white. On and on he went, and though Helvetius Erst was still a young man, he began to appear as though he were sixty. Day after day he pressed on, until he was nearly blind from the dazzling glare of the sun on snow. He was nearly starving, because his food rations had dwindled to a bit more than nothing, and nearly crippled from the gnawing cold that deadened his feet until he could not walk. Finally, after weeks of trudging across a seemingly endless plain, Helvetius saw in the distance a shimmering purple mountain. He thought he had lost his mind. He fell facedown in the snow and began to weep, certain that he was doomed to wander, insane, until he died of starvation or cold. He covered his swollen eyes with his hands and howled. This is why he didn’t hear the whisper of the sleigh running across the ice, nor the soft tinkle of the silver bells that hung from the reindeers’ bridles. Helvetius knew nothing until he heard a gentle, reedy voice nearby.
“I told you, sire. A human.”
“And you were right, Tundra. I don’t know why I bother to doubt you,” replied a rich, deep voice. Somehow hearing this voice made Helvetius Erst feel a bit less cold. “Poor fellow. Look at him. We shall have to revive him. Can you sit up, friend?”
Helvetius rolled over and looked up, overcome with wonder. Staring at him with kindly concern were a man with dark hair and a luxuriant beard and, even more astonishing, a large white wolf. “Who are you?” croaked Helvetius.
The man threw his long velvet cloak over his arm with a casual gesture. “We might ask the same of you, young man,” he replied, “but, since you have inquired first, I’ll begin. My name is Nicholas Claus, and I am the king of the land called Forever. This”—he waved grandly toward the wolf—“is Tundra, my guard, advisor, and friend.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” murmured the wolf.
“And now, my dear chap, you must tell us how you came here.”
Helvetius had felt an unaccountable warmth spreading through his body. It seemed to be emanating from his stomach, or possibly his heart, but no matter where it was coming from, Helvetius was grateful. He leaned forward. “My name is Helvetius Erst,” he began. “I came north, many months ago, I think, in search of a place called the Land of the Immortals.”
Nicholas Claus looked at him keenly. “And where did you learn of this land?”
Slowly, Helvetius told him the story of the old bookseller and his glowing map.
“De Lusus, sire,” said Tundra softly.
“Yes, of course. De Lusus never could keep a secret,” agreed Nicholas. Then he turned toward Helvetius confidingly. “You see that purple mountain there, about six miles hence? It is not truly a mountain, but a glacier, a mantle of ice wrapped around a core of amethyst crystals. And it is not truly one glacier, but the outermost link in a chain of glaciers that encircles my kingdom—Forever, the Land of the Immortals. That’s Terra Immortalium on your map. Each glacier in the chain is lit by a crystal core within, and each sends the glow of emeralds, rubies, sapphires, golden topazes, or soft opals throughout my land. But these mountains are not simply beautiful; they hold magic within them. No mortal may cross them. That’s what you must understand, my boy.”
Nicholas looked sympathetically at Helvetius. “You cannot enter. Even if you lived to reach that purple mountain, your legs would be unable to carry you farther. My kingdom is for those who have achieved immortality, and for them alone. Not even I have the power to alter that.”
“But,” Helvetius said longingly, “I am about to die. I know I am. I shall starve within a few days. Might I then attain Forever?”
“Oh, my dear fellow, I haven’t made myself clear. Immortality is not merely what happens after your mortal life is over. It is more important than that. Immortality is what happens when love conquers time—when a person’s ability to love others and to act in pure love and goodness stretches beyond death to live forever in the heart of the human race. Mortals who gave something precious to human history, who made the dreams and hopes of others come true—these are the ones destined for immortality.” He looked toward the wolf. “Tundra, which of our people might be known to this boy?”
“I believe Robin Hood is well known in the mortal world, sire.”
“Yes, yes, of course! Robin was a splendid mortal! The people of Nottingham were starving to death, and de Faucemberg sat eating roast pheasant on a silver plate. Not a particle of charity. So Robin took matters into his own hands. All that leaping out of trees gave him some fun, but in the end he managed to redistribute quite a lot of wealth. Never kept it for himself; gave it all away. You see? And thus, when his human span was finished, he came to live with us.”
Helvetius nearly wailed, “But I shall never be a Robin Hood! I am no warrior. I shall never see the land that I have dreamed of all these years! I shall never—”
He stopped, arrested by the piercing gaze that Nicholas had turned upon him. The kind brown eyes were no less kind, but they revealed their owner’s power. “Think, Helvetius. Think what you are saying. It is a failure of courage, and worse yet, a failure of love to relinquish your dreams so easily. Each of us holds within his soul the ability to conquer sorrow, fear, and misery with charity, compassion, and wisdom. If you truly wish to enter the Land of the Immortals, you must find a way to use what your soul knows.” The stern eyes softened. “And you don’t have to leap out of trees. We have many citizens whose names are not famous, whose works were known only to those who were saved by them. And these, too, attain immortality. If I were you,” Nicholas added carefully, “I would reflect seriously upon the benefits that my travels could bring to others, say, in the area of maps.”
“Well, yes, I suppose I could chart these polar territories,” said Helvetius, “but how could that help humankind?”
“It would save many lives that would otherwise be lost in the futile search for a shipping route over the top of the world. Just for example.”
“I see, yes, that makes sense,” said Helvetius, brightening. “There is no such passage, but they persist in looking for it.”
“And the sailors perish for the merchants’ greed,” said Nicholas. “Now, dear chap, it’s time I was getting back. Tund
ra, will you call the sled for this young man?
The wolf raised his head and let out an echoing howl that seemed to shatter the chilled air into shards. A ripple of ancient fear stirred within Helvetius, and though he tried to hide it, he trembled.
“What’s happening to this mortal, sire?” Tundra asked, looking at Helvetius’s quivering hands.
Nicholas glanced at the young man. “He’s frightened, Tundra. That’s what it looks like to be frightened.”
“Odd,” murmured the wolf.
“We have no fear in Forever,” Nicholas explained to Helvetius. “Oh, here’s the sled! Right here, Vobis!” He waved an arm at a white sled that came dashing toward them, drawn by a single black horse. “Vobis will take you home now,” he said, lifting Helvetius to his feet and leading him toward the sled.
Helvetius gazed with longing at the comfortable seat piled with soft, thick rugs. “But the horse,” he protested. “The poor beast cannot draw me even a fraction of the distance I must go before she freezes.”
Nicholas smiled. “You need not worry,” he said. “You will be home in an hour’s time.” He guided Helvetius into the sled and settled the rugs snugly around him. “There. I know you will keep our secret well, for you have the rare gift of determination. I hope that I will see you again.” He waved, and the black horse reared up. For a second the horse, sled, and driver were frozen in midair, and then they disappeared, leaving only a ghostly hole in the frozen air.
“She is fast, our Vobis,” said Nicholas thoughtfully, climbing into his curving sleigh. Tundra jumped in by his side, and the reindeer began his graceful loping stride toward the distant purple mountain.
“This fear,” began Tundra, after a few moments, “did you experience it yourself during your mortal life, sire?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas. “Frequently. All mortals do. It’s unavoidable. Some refuse to let it control their lives, but for others, fear becomes a prison. It turns them inside out, makes their hearts dry, and causes them to hate one another.”
“What are they frightened of, sire?”
“Lots of things. Hunger. Sickness. Death. Shame. Disappointing one another.”
“You see these things when you visit their world?”
“Yes, oh dear yes. That’s why I go. That’s why there is Christmas. It eases their hearts a bit; for a few hours, they are not so frightened and they can love one another a little more. When the elders created Forever and called me to be its king, they ordained that the great gate must be opened once a year at Christmas to let new immortals join us, but also—and just as important—to let me travel to the mortal world to deliver a balm of peace and goodwill to all the mortals while I deliver playthings to the children. We have so much of these resources, you see, and the human world is so sadly lacking in them.” The sleigh passed over the glacier and, for a few moments, they were bathed in the brilliance of amethysts, violets, orchids, and lavender.
“May I ask another question, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, of course, Tundra.”
“How did that human come to us?”
“How? Oh, I see what you are asking. Geography is a very complicated problem, Tundra. Human beings are addicted to geography. They make maps and charts, they plot and survey, and they think they can find anything. Now, you and I know that Forever doesn’t exactly sit on Earth in quite the same way that a mortal country does, correct?”
“Correct, but he was there, on Earth, and …”
“And he could see the glaciers from his position, which is not, well, true, is it?”
“No, sire.”
“So your question, then, is this: Was he here or were we there?”
“Exactly, sire.”
“Ridiculous question,” said Nicholas, smiling sideways at the wolf.
Tundra’s ears twitched. There was a silence. “You did it, sire.”
“Yes.”
“Why, sire?”
“Because he needed help.”
“You brought him here.”
“Yes.”
The wolf sighed. “Sire, you—how can I say this?—you love these people so much, I know, but—but—I wonder if you are too generous. Now here is another one who knows about our country, and perhaps he will tell others. Look at de Lusus. Look at Mylius. They reveal our secrets.”
Nicholas stared at the sky. “Secrets are worthless until you give them away,” he said softly “If this one tells, and I think he won’t, the story will only bring more hope into the world, and that is what I desire. And besides, he gave me an idea.”
“An idea for what?”
“An idea that will provide an explanation for my appearances. The mortals are sure to find it highly satisfactory.” He began to chuckle. “I will build a little villa in the Arctic—perhaps right upon the North Pole—and set up a toy manufactory. I shall be Santa Claus, a kindly old saint who delivers toys to children on Christmas Eve, which, of course, I do anyway, but this will keep them from wondering and guessing about Forever and the immortals.”
“They will wonder how you manage to produce enough toys for the world’s children,” said Tundra.
“I’ve already thought of that. I’ll dress up the goblins in little suits, little red suits, and call them my workmen.”
“The goblins will hate that,” said Tundra. “Imagine Melchior in a red suit.”
“I’ll say that they’re elves,” Nicholas said blithely
“They’ll hate that even more.”
“I know, I know,” Nicholas said, laughing.
“And, sire, to whom do you plan to reveal this?”
“That, Tundra, is the most ingenious part of my plan! I will make a selection of poets from many lands, and then I will approach each one with a highly confidential, private invitation to my workshop, enjoining each to utter secrecy. They will come and see the elves working away; they will see me, perhaps in a red suit myself; and then they will go home and spread the word! You know poets—they love to talk.”
“How will you explain Christmas Eve?”
“Traveling the globe in one night? I’ll tell them the truth.”
“They’ll never believe you.”
“Yes, they will, Tundra. Humans need magic sleighs and reindeer. They need them more than you can possibly imagine.”
And that was how, many years ago, the story of Santa Claus took shape. Nicholas’s North Pole workshop was a resounding success. Grumbling, the goblins dressed themselves in red suits and covered their blue cheeks with rouge. They arrayed mountains of toys upon tables and hammered at dolls and rocking horses, while Nicholas greeted a small, enthusiastic band of poets with chuckles and enormous platters of food. The poets gulped and nodded, chewed and took a few notes. Some months later, by a strange coincidence, a number of books about Santa Claus appeared, each declaring that he was a jolly, rotund old fellow in a red suit who lived at the North Pole in a workshop full of elves who made toys for good little boys and girls.
When Nicholas read those books, he laughed and blessed the day that Helvetius Erst had seen his fateful map. It seemed as though the Land of the Immortals would be safe for all time.
Chapter Three
NICHOLAS HAD COME TO think of the letter he had received so many months ago as The Golden Letter, for somehow the generous heart that had penned the words had met and mingled with his own wish for a child, and a strange spiritual alchemy had occurred. The elders of the universe, seeing the wish of one and the love of the other, had wrought an uncommon wonder, and Nicholas and Viviana were presented, at last, with their own child.
Now summer was quickening into fall. On a cloudless day when the leaves were just beginning to flame into gold, a vast crowd gathered silently on the Terrace of the Swans before the Crystal Castle of Forever. Mermaids, naiads, and even quarrelsome water sprites shared the cool waters of the reflecting pool. A pink cloud of fairies hovered above the heads of the poets, artists, princes, heroes, magicians, gnomes, goblins, centaurs, and fauns who waited patientl
y for a sign from the castle. Behind them, the gardens of the palace unfurled their splendor, and beyond that, the Veridian River curled like a blue-green snake through the field where herbs and fruits grew. This plain, which had no name, stretched on as far as the eye could see and glowed with a pulsing light. Sometimes the sky above was dreamy, soft, silvery; sometimes the air was bathed in the colors of sunset. Far beneath the plain were the caves of the ancient wizards, whose spells and potions caused the magical light.
Suddenly there was a stir in the crowd. A wave of excited whispers rippled through the assembly as Nicholas stepped out upon the palace steps. “He’s here!” “But look at his face!” “Look at his eyes! They’re glowing!” “I told you!” “Everything must be all right!”
Everything was more than all right. Beaming, Nicholas bowed to the fairies. He bowed to the dragons, who were still looking sleepy from their summer nap. There was Melisande—he waved. And Beatrice—he waved again. There were poets, bunched around a tree, arguing about anapests. There were the goblins, fussing and fretting next to the pool, probably driving the water sprites mad. Gawaine, always useful, was urging the centaurs to step back and allow the gnomes to see. Nicholas looked up. The phoenix nodded with slow dignity from his perch on the old oak. The roc offered his usual terrifying smile.
Nicholas felt as though his heart would burst with joy. He opened up his arms wide and called, “My people! This is a great day in our land, for a child has been born to us—the first child ever to be born in the Land of the Immortals! You have a princess, my friends, and Viviana and I have a daughter!”
An enormous shout went up from the multitudes, punctuated by excited cries of “I told you so!” “Just as we thought!” and “I could tell the minute I saw his face!”