Santa and the Four
Santa
banked his sleigh around the dome of the California state capitol building,
slalomed between the palms and cypress lining 10th Street, and came in for a
landing just on the other side of North Street between unimaginative office
buildings. In broad daylight about two weeks before Christmas, his arrival
ordinarily would have drawn considerable attention. Being slightly out of phase
with reality, though, he and his team of reindeer were no more noticeable than
the seasonal decorations along the street.
"Darn War on Christmas," he
grumbled. This place used to be cheerful.
He hopped out of the sleigh and
double-checked the address Ginger had given him. It was the correct place - an
unmarked gray slab office building. Hardly what he'd expected.
"I don't think this'll take
long," he told Rudolph. The reindeer nodded.
The office building's front door
opened into a drab lobby - chipped linoleum flooring, industrial green painted
walls, and a pair of elevators. One of the elevators was out of service, so
Santa waited on the other after pressing the button. For a four-story building,
the wait was interminable.
Inside the lift, he punched the
button for the fifth floor, one that only existed in this out-of-phase reality.
The elevator shuddered but soon delivered him to another lobby. Here, dozens of
office drones hurried about their business. Each was dressed in drab but
professional attire that screamed government underling.
"Santa?" From behind a
receptionist's desk, a middle-aged woman rose and gestured him forward. Santa
assumed everyone on this floor was a functional manifestation, much like his
elves, and thus why he could be seen.
"Yes," he said, hitching up
his pants by the belt and stepping forward. "I'm here to see-"
"Taxes is expecting you,"
the woman said politely but firmly. "Down that hall, last door on the
left."
"Uh, right. Thank you,
miss." Before he'd finished, she was already sitting back down, ignoring
him.
Santa went down the hallway, finding
the entire experience unsettling. Definitely not what he'd expected. Taxes'
office was easy enough to find, standing out from all the other doors only by
the tarnished bronze nameplate beside the door that read: Taxes. He lifted his hand
to knock.
"Come in," said a
no-nonsense female voice from behind the door.
He opened the door on a small office.
A mahogany desk, massive and worn around the edges with age, dominated the
room. All other furnishings - guest chairs, filing cabinet, desk lamp, coat
rack - appeared to be thrift store finds from the 1950's.
Behind the desk, typing away
furiously on a computer, was a petite, severe old woman in a simple maroon
business dress. Her hair was shoulder-length and dyed brown. She was much like
him, though, in that there was an indelible power to her. This was definitely
Taxes.
"Please, take a seat," she
said without warmth or even looking up.
Santa eyed the guest chairs, simple
wood affairs, and settled his bulk gently into the sturdier looking of the
pair. After a few more awkward moments, Taxes finally stopped typing and looked
him in the eye. Her intelligence was obvious, as was her soulless,
single-minded nature. Santa found himself wanting to be anywhere but here.
"Thank you for seeing me,"
he said, trying to buoy the mood. "I like your office. Friendly staff.
Didn't realize you were based out of California."
Taxes' lips tightened in something
resembling a smile.
"Thank you," she said.
"I relocated here some years ago. Perfect laboratory for my work."
Santa nodded. "Ah, I see."
"I'm a fan of yours, you
know," she said. "Christmas generates a tidy little bit of sales tax,
not to mention the knock-on income, shipping, telecom, and other associated
taxes."
An embarrassed chuckle escaped
Santa's lips. "Good to hear, I suppose. We all do kinda work together,
don't we?"
Taxes shrugged. "Some better
than others."
"Right. And speaking of
others..."
"You're here to see Death."
Santa blushed awkwardly. "Yeah.
Not that it wasn't nice to meet you and all."
Taxes rose and waved it aside.
"I figured it would be polite to make your acquaintance, this being your
first time here and all."
Uncertainly, Santa rose as well and
fell in behind her as she left the office and strode down the hall at a brisk
pace. "Yes. I've always thought us aspects of reality should get together
once in a while. You're, of course, always welcome to stop by the North Pole.
The missus loves to entertain guests."
"I'll consider it," Taxes
said in a voice that suggested she had no such intention.
Taxes turned down another hall and
then opened an unmarked door. She gestured for Santa to enter and she followed.
The room beyond defied the bounds of Taxes' office reality, a space of inky
void that seemed to extend forever. Row upon row of machines, each an amalgam
of wood, metal, vacuum tubes, and ticker tape, extended beyond sight in every
direction. There was a distinct hum and chatter to the machinery, creating a sense
of activity in the otherwise desolate space.
"This is where I track taxes -
paid, owed, estimated."
"Impressive," Santa said,
going with that over "horrifying."
Taxes pointed in a seemingly random
direction. "Death is over there. He likes to watch the machines run.
Little change-up from watching the sands of people's lives pass through his
hour glasses. You can see yourself out when you're done."
Santa said, "Thanks. It was a
pleasure..."
Taxes was already gone and the door
closed.
"...meeting you."
He sighed and wandered off through
the machines. After what might have been a minute or an hour - time, like when
he delivered gifts, worked differently here - he finally came across the
black-cloaked figure that could only be Death. Death, motionless, had his back
turned to Santa and appeared to be watching one of the machines.
Santa cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, Death?"
He'd never met Death in person, but
the aspect's reputation was well-known to all. Death's hood shifted ever so
slightly, perhaps in acknowledgment. Taxes had nothing on Death when it came to
making a person feel uncomfortable.
"I was, uh, hoping we could talk
about a little situation I have."
Death's hood shifted a little further
in a gesture Santa now took to mean he was listening.
"See, I've got this young girl
who's been really well-behaved this year. The only thing she asked me for
Christmas was to spend it with her mother, who's currently out in the field
serving with the Mexican Army and scheduled to return home two days after
Christmas. Ordinarily, I'd call that good enough, but I understand the mother
is going to die in action on the 26th. There are only so many strings I can
pull in a situation like this and I was wondering if you could, you know, maybe
reschedule the mother's untimely passing to something slightly
more...timely?"
Death turned fully to face Santa.
Inside the black hood was the absence of anything, a bottomless void. Santa
could feel a gaze, though, one that penetrated to the core of his being.
Not a word was spoken, but Santa
knew. "You can't change that, can you?"
The hood shifted a fraction of an
inch.
"You wish you could help, but
you can't. I get it. We all have our rules."
Death shrugged infinitesimally.
Santa frowned. The outcome wasn't
unexpected, but he'd still felt compelled to try. This was one of those gift
requests that really stuck with him. He knew it'd gnaw at him through the
season.
"Okay, well, thanks for your
consideration, at least," Santa said. "And, uh, enjoy watching these,
uh, machines."
Death nodded and turned back.
Santa gave a short wave to Death's
backside. "Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too!"
#
Deep in the Christmas homestretch,
Santa had a lot on his plate. Still, the dilemma of what to do with the girl's
request nagged at him to the point of distraction. It seemed the best he could
probably manage would be to arrange a video call. Better than nothing, but
hardly satisfying under the dark circumstances that lay in wait for the
wonderful young child.
"Knock knock."
Santa looked up to find Ginger, his
right-hand elf, poking her head in through the open door to his crowded office.
She looked more in the Christmas spirit than he felt.
"Come in. What's up?"
She deftly navigated her way through
sacks of mail from kids around the world and took a seat across from his desk.
"Just checking up on you,"
she said innocently.
Santa frowned and stared at her from
above his wire-rimmed glasses. "Uh huh. You think I need checking up
on?"
She shrugged. "That depends. Did
you miss this morning's training session for a good reason?"
His frown deepened. Had he ever
missed a morning training on the sleigh with his team? Not that he could
recall.
"Sugar cookies! The team must be
in a fit wondering what happened."
Ginger gave him that look - knowing,
disappointed, motherly. "The crew is trying to calm them down. But, yeah,
you might want to put in an appearance."
Santa stood, his back cracking as his
bowl full of jelly redistributed itself over his belt. "Good idea. I'll get
right to it, then."
The elf pinned him in place with a
skeptical raised eyebrow. "You're still dwelling on the girl, aren't
you?"
Like she didn't already know the
answer. "Comes with the job."
Ginger hopped off her chair, reached
into her smock's front pocket, and withdrew a cream-colored envelope.
"Here. This just arrived. Maybe it'll help."
Santa took the envelope, on which his
name was hand-written in elegant script. He was about to ask where it came
from, but he figured he'd know soon enough. Ginger didn't wait for any further
response, leaving his office so he could read it in private.
Inside he found a single-sided black
card. Embossed on the front in silver lettering was: "You are cordially
invited to the Four's Winter Solstice party. December twenty-first, Glad ne
Rijeci."
It was unsigned, but Santa
instinctively knew this was from Death. Curious. Had the aspect changed his
mind? Or was it simply a polite gesture? Something told him it would be in his
best interest to carve out a little time, despite it being the busiest time of
the year, to put in an appearance.
#
Santa decided to be economical and
combined the Solstice party with his reindeer team's daily training session. He
didn't know where this Glad na Rijeci was, but his team could instinctively
find any destination in existence. This place tested even their abilities, far
removed from the North Pole or Earth standard.
The reindeer were clearly unsettled
as they flew his sleigh lower, rapidly approaching a white castle that stood
alone in a vast, barren plain. The ground below was dust interspersed with
dried crops, clearly once a productive farmland. A dry riverbed wound through
the area, passing alongside the castle.
"Peculiar place to hold a party,"
he muttered to himself.
He circled the castle grounds,
finding no evidence of inhabitance, and finally directed his team to land in
the courtyard beside what appeared to be a dilapidated old stable. Figuring he
might as well take advantage of the facilities, he opened the stable doors and
was surprised to find it occupied. Three horses - one each of red, black, and
white - paused in their chomping of hay to mark the intrusion. In the far back
corner of the stable was what appeared to be a massive chariot, mostly obscured
under a dusty tarp.
"Hope you don't mind if my crew
join you," he said to the horses. Their eyes flashed with understanding.
When they didn't object, he unhitched his reindeer and directed them into the
unused stalls. "Back in a bit."
The castle's front door opened of its
own accord as Santa approached. He was prepared for warm holiday greetings but
found no one. The inside of the castle was in stark contrast with the exterior
- clean, inviting, and opulent in every immaculate detail. Floors were fine
marble, masterful paintings adorned polished wood-paneled walls, and
chandeliers festooned with thousands of candles lined the grand entry and the
halls extending off in each direction.
"Hello?" Santa said, his
jolly voice echoing through the place.
Soft footsteps from one of the halls
caught his attention and moments later a man almost as rotund as himself popped
into the room. He appeared middle-aged and had an easy smile under his puffy
cheeks. His manner of dress was peculiar - light-blue robes that might have
been stylish during the height of the Roman Empire and matching slippers.
"My goodness. Santa!" The
man was nothing if not pleased to see him. "This is a delight! Come in,
come in!"
Santa crossed the room and took the
man's proffered hand. "Thank you, though I'm afraid you have me at a
disadvantage. You are?"
If the man was insulted, he didn't
show it. "Famine, at your service," he said. "I guess our paths
don't cross all that often. And forgive me, but I wasn't expecting you either.
Don't get me wrong. You're most welcome and I'm sure everyone will be thrilled
that you're here."
"I got an invitation,"
Santa said as they walked down another opulent hall. He pondered the implications
of being in the presence of another aspect, especially one having close
associations with Death. "Though it was a bit vague."
"Ah. Death invited you,
then?"
"That was my assumption,
yes."
"Maybe that means he'll actually
show this year. He's missed the last few."
Famine led Santa into a richly
appointed parlor, replete with couches and chairs, a table laden with an
incredible selection of food and wine, and massive windows overlooking the
desolate landscape beyond. It was quiet for a party, with only two of the other
chairs occupied.
"Friends," Famine said,
"We have a wonderful surprise guest! Santa Claus."
One of the other guests, a young
woman in fashionable jeans and over-sized blue sweater, almost squealed in
excitement at the introduction. She set aside her drink, sprang up, and hurried
across the room to take Santa's hand.
"Oh my goodness, it's such an
honor to meet you," she said.
"Pestilence," Famine said
by way of introduction. "Don't worry, her enthusiasm is the most infectious
part of her."
Pestilence gave Famine a playful swat
on the arm. "Like I'd do that to a guest."
"Wouldn't be the first
time," the other guest said in a deep baritone, slowly rising to his feet.
"Santa, meet War," Famine
said, completing the introductions.
War towered over the others and had
come dressed for the occasion in a bronze chest plate over mail coat and
leather greaves. A sword was buckled at his belt and Santa assumed the shield
propped in the corner belonged to him as well. The imposing aspect's dark eyes
narrowed as he approached, and it was unclear if he was smiling or scowling
behind the black beard.
"Santa," War said with a
curt nod and bone-crunching handshake.
"Nice to meet you," Santa
said.
"Sorry about that whole War on
Christmas thing," War said. "Just business."
Famine rolled his eyes.
"Distasteful business if you ask me. Smacks of desperation."
Santa wasn't sure if he was being put
on or if War really was behind the active diminishing of his holiday. It wasn't
in his nature to take offense at much, though, so he took War's apology at face
value.
"Well, I must say, it's a
pleasure to meet you all," Santa said. "I wasn't sure what to expect
when I received that invitation."
Famine, seeing the others'
expressions, said, "Death invited him."
War snorted. "Does he think
sending a surrogate is any less disrespectful?"
"Maybe he'll be coming,
then?" Pestilence said. "I do so miss him."
"Pretty sure Hell hasn't frozen
over yet," War said, shifting over to the buffet to snag a crab leg.
"Do you know Death, then?"
Pestilence said to Santa.
Santa shrugged. "Only just met
him formally a few days ago."
"Still hanging out with Taxes,
I'd imagine?" Famine said. "I even tried inviting her in hopes it'd
get Death to come, but she declined."
War sputtered, losing half his
mouthful of food. "You what?"
Famine smiled innocently. "Just
being polite."
Pestilence touched Santa's arm.
"War's a little touchy on the subject of Taxes. Thinks the old witch is
trying to make a move to take his spot in the Four."
War glowered. "I am not."
Famine chuckled in a tone that
implied otherwise. "Definitely sensitive."
Santa felt sorry for their picking on
War, but figured he was hardly in a position to intervene in was felt like a
family squabble.
"War's been waning for
decades," Pestilence said. "Fewer people face the daily threat of
warfare now than at any time in human history. Well, per capita, anyway."
"So, he's been trying new
angles," Famine said. "Like the War on Christmas. And the War on
Drugs, War on Poverty, War on Terror, War on Noise..."
"I've still got a few aces up my
sleeve," War said from the buffet where he had his back turned to them.
"Taxes will be sitting on an ash-heap of tax returns when I'm done."
"Of course she will,
darling," Famine said while shaking his head "no" to Santa.
"Unless she just does an end-run around us all. Which seems increasingly
likely."
Santa tried to shift the subject
while relating to the other guests. "So, the Four Horsemen. I didn't
realize you were really a thing. Is there any apocalypse on the horizon I
should be worried about? Would really put a damper on Christmas and all."
"You already missed it,"
War said, turning back on them with a dark glare. "Five years ago."
Santa blinked. "I did? I mean,
yeah, I guess I did. Er..."
"It was a total dud,"
Famine said.
"We kinda called it off,"
Pestilence said, sounding a little sheepish before glancing War's direction.
Santa nodded, clearly sensing some
tension. He couldn't let such a revelation drop, though. "So, uh, what
happened?"
"We couldn't find parking."
If War hadn't said it in his deep voice laced with utter contempt and irritation,
Santa would have thought he was being put on.
"Ah," Santa said.
"Well, I know how that can be. Awful nuisance. Don't get me started on how
architecture has changed over the last hundred years. All these roofs with
awkward angles and dormer windows out to Wazoo. Trying to land a team of
reindeer on one of those is no joke."
The three Horsemen seemed content to
let the matter drop and soon Famine was nudging Santa to try all the forty-some
delicacies he'd brought in for the spread. Pestilence peppered him with
questions about Christmas and what it was like delivering some many presents
year after year. War slumped back in his seat, stared out the window, and
drank.
Peculiar as the company was, Santa
enjoyed the party. It wasn't often that he got to meet or chat with new people,
let alone those who could relate to some of his non-human characteristics. All
were a wealth of knowledge and pleasant - even War, after getting a few more
drinks in him.
"Well," Santa said after
what felt like a suitable amount of time, "I suppose I should be going.
Busy time of year for me and all. Shame Death couldn't make an
appearance."
"Why did he invite you?"
War said, almost accusatory.
Santa shrugged. "Honestly, I'm
not entirely certain. Maybe just trying to be nice after I tracked him down at
Taxes' place?"
Famine, licking his fingers from the
last plate of food he'd just finished, gave him a curious look. "Just what
were you meeting Death for, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Oh, it's okay," Santa
said. "I'd been hoping he could perhaps delay a certain person's death by
a few days. Just trying to make a little girl's Christmas wish come true."
"Death's powers don't work like
that," Pestilence said, apologetic. "He couldn't have helped you even
if he'd wanted."
Famine nodded. "What's the
girl's story? What was her wish?"
Santa filled them in on the girl and
her mother who would die in action. The Horsemen listened intently.
"Lots of fighting in
Mexico," War said grimly. "Like Death, though, there are limits to
what I can do within my domain. Sorry."
Santa sighed. "Well, we all do
what we can. What we're destined to do."
"Truth," Famine said.
Santa thanked Famine for his
hospitality and all of them for their company. The three Horsemen saw him out,
waving goodbye. Santa genuinely had enjoyed his time, even if it had ended on a
bittersweet note.
He found his team waiting in the
stable. The twelve sets of eyes, horse and reindeer alike, stared at him like
he'd intruded upon some private conversation. He tried not to let it bother
him, but he knew just how impressionable his reindeer could be.
As he was about to start hooking the
team up to his sleigh, an idea came to him. He reached behind the seat and
grabbed a large sack, then hurried back to the castle and knocked. The Horsemen
answered in short order.
"Realized it wouldn't be proper
of me to come to a party this close to Christmas empty-handed," he said,
unslinging his bag from his shoulder.
"Oh, that's really not
necessary," Pestilence said. Her eagerness, however, was impossible to
hide. Famine, likewise, looked excited. Even War stood there with an air of
solemn interest.
"For you, my dear," Santa
said, offering Pestilence a large rectangular package in red and green paper.
Pestilence took it with thanks and
ripped the paper off, revealing a set of ancient clay tablets. She ran her
fingers over the topmost reverently, reading the imprinted text. "Oh my
goodness. You shouldn't!"
"What is it?" Famine asked,
looking over her shoulder.
"The Saikikku by the Babylonian
scholar Esagil-kin-apli," she said. "Perhaps the oldest written
treatise on disease in human history."
She looked up at Santa. "Thank
you so much. This is incredible!"
"You're most welcome," he
said, pleased with her reaction.
Santa then dug into his bag and
withdrew a small box wrapped in blue paper with little snowmen on it. This he
handed to Famine, who quickly tore off the wrapping and opened the box within.
He held out for all to see a tiny, black polished idol roughly in the shape of
a woman. Famine looked stunned.
"Is this...?" He looked to
Santa who nodded.
"Crafted from rhyolite magma
from the Kaharoa Volcano."
War looked uncertain, prompting
Famine to explain. "That's the big one in 1315 that triggered the Great
Famine worldwide. Lasted for years, brought on disease and-"
"War. Yes, now I remember. Those
were good times."
Pestilence gave Famine a hug.
"The best."
"Thank you, Santa," Famine
said.
Santa nodded, then reached into his
bag one last time. He produced a long, flat box that couldn't have fit in the
bag under the usual laws of time and space. At nearly six feet in length, it
even got War's attention as Santa handed it over. War, unlike the others, was delicate
in his removal of the gold and white snowflake motif paper.
It was a wood case with iron buckles
and hinges. This he opened, revealing a massive sword with a long, broad blade
and a leather-wrapped grip suited for two-hands. It looked well-used and functional
and was certainly not a decorative piece.
War's mouth dropped. "William
Wallace's sword."
Santa shrugged modestly. "The
real one. That one in the museum, well..."
"I know," War said with a
nod as he gently withdrew the blade and took measure of its weight and balance.
"I don't know how to thank you."
"You just did. All of you."
Santa cinched up his bag. "And with that, I really must be going. Merry
Christmas, all!"
"Merry Christmas to you,
too," the Horsemen said in unison.
#
Christmas
delivery was a smooth operation. Santa found his mood improved considerably by
the Solstice party. Once his spirits lifted, so too did those of his entire
operation. The elves were sharp in loading the sleigh and the reindeer
performed so well he decided he would forego the usual after-action review. It
was only as he was coming in for the final landing at the North Pole that
something popped to the fore of his mind.
The girl! The one with the mother who
was soon to die. He'd somehow forgotten all about her. He hadn't delivered an
alternate gift. Forgetting something like that was, or should have been,
completely impossible given his nature.
In a panic, Santa hopped out of his
sleigh before it came to a complete halt. He raced across the stable, startled
elves jumping out of his way, until he found Ginger. The head elf was kicking
snow off her boots, having just arrived to greet his return.
"Ginger! I... messed up. I
think. I forgot a gift for that girl, Annamaria Cano."
The elf smiled up at him, which only
annoyed him even more.
"No gift, Ginger! This is a
disaster!"
"Relax, boss," she said.
"You didn't forget anything."
He couldn't relax, but her demeanor
cut through the growing sense of panic. "What do you mean? I'm certain I
didn't visit her."
Ginger reached into her smock and
withdrew an envelope much like the one in which the party invitation had
arrived a week ago. She handed it over. "Santa" was handwritten on
it.
"Maybe you should read that in
your office," Ginger said in a pointed tone. Santa knew her well enough to
take the unsolicited advice.
Not slowing to get out of his boots
or coat, Santa hurried to his office. He ripped open the envelope and pulled
out a single square of paper divided into four square quarters - red, black,
white, and pale. Across it were the words, "Thank you and you're
welcome."
The Horsemen. He knew what the thanks
pertained to, but the "you're welcome?" Santa dropped into the chair
behind his desk and reached for his snow globe. This he shook, picturing
Annamaria Cano.
Amid the swirling flakes inside the
globe, an image of the young girl manifested. She was in a red dress and her
eyes were puffy from tears. She was lying in a hospital bed, curled up beside
her mother. There was an IV and several other devices hooked up to the ill
mother, but on her face was a loving smile.
Santa smiled and wiped away a tear.
He didn't know how, exactly, but the girl had gotten her wish.
The focus in the snow globe shifted
to the hallway outside the hospital room. The girl's father stood there,
clearly devastated, with a doctor and an officer in a military uniform.
"Our unit was called away from a
routine patrol," the officer said in respectful tones. "We'd gotten
word of a tiny village whose crops had failed over the summer. They were
malnourished, desperately in need of food and medicine. We volunteered to
deliver them. God, how happy they were to see us arrive right before
Christmas."
"I've requested a team go visit
the village," the doctor said. "We don't know what illness your wife
picked up there. Maybe we'll be able to figure it out in time. Unfortunately, I
just don't know if..."
Santa set the globe down and the
image faded. He knew they wouldn't figure it out in time. Death couldn't change
the woman's fate. It seemed, though, some other interested parties had been
able to subtly tweak the circumstances. Is that why Death had sent him the
party invitation? Santa had to believe it so.
He sniffled and smiled, then tapped
the card from the Horsemen.
"Merry Christmas."