Christmas with Nick Klaas

Part 1: Prologue

The sound of snow crunching under Tor's boots seemed to be filled with a bit of extra magic on this most auspicious of eves. In the otherwise silent night, the crystalline flakes practically chimed in harmony as they compressed under the worn, reindeer-hide soles, leaving a trail of child-sized footprints behind. The frigid air also smelled unusually crisp, tinged with a smattering of smoke that floated toward the starry sky in ghostly plumes from chimneys in the distance.

The little man—barely three feet tall or one-and-a-half kyynärä as they used to say in these parts before the old ways were forgotten by most—scrambled to duck under low-hanging pine branches and jumped over fallen birch logs. His thick, gray beard caught the gently falling snowflakes, which sparkled every time they reflected the full moon's light. But this was no ordinary midwinter stroll. There was urgency in Tor's steps, and his companion could barely keep up.

"Why did you drag me out to the woods, tonight of all nights? We should be at home, celebrating with the others," Samu said, trudging several arm lengths behind. Like Tor, he was a tonttu who grew to below average height and lived to above average length, yet argued with precisely average zeal.

"Ssh," Tor shushed, a stumpy, gloved finger covering his frostbitten lips as he glanced back. "You will make our presence known. And I did not drag you," he added, continuing on his way through the knee-high powder. "In fact, I believe I told you quite clearly to stay behind."

"When one of my brothers sneaks away from the Solstice feast before dessert is served, I fear something is amiss," Samu said, his labored breath creating an ethereal fog around him.

"The honey cake looked dry, and there was too much nutmeg in the cider." Tor waved off the concern without as much as giving his fellow Nordic gnome a glance. He knew his brother well enough to guess that under Samu's bulbous nose and surrounded by his snow-white beard, his lips were pursed in a disapproving pout. If the pointy, knit hat on his head—with burgundy stripes instead of emerald, like his own—hadn't practically come down to Samu's eyes, Tor would also no doubt be witness to a set of bushy, white eyebrows pulled together in disfavor.

But Samu was not only more advanced in years, but also famously shorter on patience than the situation usually warranted. Not content with letting things be with just a silent scowl and unconvinced by his brother's excuse, the older tonttu grabbed Tor's arm and held him back. "You come here with purpose, yet fear being discovered. Tell me why you've entered the Dark Forest on this most enchanted evening before I call for the rest of our brothers to join us. I'd like to see you continue your secret trek with eleven more pairs of feet in your wake."

The threat certainly wasn't idle, and the last thing Tor needed was more company. He shook his brother's grip off with a spin, and when he faced him again, Tor pushed Samu backward into the snow. The little man landed with a soft thump, sending a cloud of flakes into the air. Jumping on top of him, Tor grabbed the lapel of Samu's thick, felt coat—trimmed with the fur of an Arctic hare—and pulled his face to just inches from his own.

"You thick skulled—" he began, but Samu lunged up and tossed him aside. He may not have had a chance to finish the scolding, but even while pinned underneath Samu, Tor wasn't going to give up so easily. With their limbs still intertwined, he mustered all his strength to fend off his brother and roll along the forest floor.

First he was up, then he was down. Up again for a moment, underneath again the next. The frozen crystals scattered in a whirlwind around the little men as the two huffed and groaned in their struggle. With their strength and resolve evenly matched, only luck would determine who would end up on top when they finally stopped. And tonight, fortune favored Samu.