Kris Kringle

A servant slowly opened the door to a small room in the castle. It felt more like a prison than a room, as it only contained a simple bed against the wall and nothing more. It was dark inside, for its only light source were the faint rays of the setting sun that came through the window opening in the wall. As the door was opened for her, Princess Eva cautiously walked inside and directed the servant to close the door and wait outside it. The man lying on the bed did his best to rise respectfully in the presence of the princess, but she immediately ordered him to lay back down.

“You needn’t show any ceremony right now,” she explained, “I simply want to hear everything you know and remember from the attack in the forest. Everything.”

The man on the bed whom she was addressing was one of her father’s guardsmen and the only known survivor of the attack three days ago. The search party that had been sent into the woods had still brought back nothing and no one to increase her understanding of what occurred. She did not know if her father was still alive, and her worry increased with each passing day. She had just received word from Margaret earlier that afternoon that the injured guardsmen was acting more coherent and was now willing to share what had happened. Princess Eva made no delay in making her way to the room where he had been recovering.

“Who attacked you?” Princess Eva started.

The injured guardsmen lay in his bed and placed his hand upon his head, as if he helped him to recall the information being asked of him.

“Not who,” he said, “What.”

Eva said nothing but gave him time to elaborate.

“It all happened so terribly fast,” he continued, “It is difficult for my mind to recall it because I don’t think my mind was ever actually there. I know that sounds silly, but I… I just remember swinging my sword wildly, hoping to do something to protect the king. Surely there were other noises and screams from the men, but all I remember is hearing my own scream and the cry of the…the…”

Eva again remained silent and allowed the man to tell the story at his own pace.

“The beast,” he finally said, “Such a wretched creature. Came from nowhere.”

“Describe this beast.”

The man shook his head. “It fills me with dread just picturing its face in my mind,” the guardsman admitted painfully, “It had a dark, wrinkled face, with horns that curled out of its head like a hideous ram. Its eyes glowed green. It had…wings, very large wings… I can’t remember quite right, but I think it flew down from above when it attacked our caravan… Its large talons tore our men’s bodies apart. Such a gruesome scene!”

He stopped, and Eva could tell the mere recollection of the event was making the man emotional and even perhaps frightened.

“How did you come to survive and make your way back to the castle?” she asked after a quiet moment.

The guardsmen shook his head again. “I am not entirely sure of that either,” he confessed, “I remember the beast digging its talons into my back”—he shifted slightly in his bed as if the memory of it reopened the wounds—“I was lifted off the ground…and I don’t remember what happened next. All I know is that I woke up in the field in front of the forest and crawled until I felt someone might be close enough to hear my cries. I guess someone did because the next time I woke up I was here.”

“You say you don’t remember much, and from what little you have shared, I cannot blame you,” she remarked, “Such an experience must have been truly traumatizing. But please, I beg you—can you tell me anything about what happened to my father? Did you see the beast attack him?”

The man closed his eyes, trying hard to recollect the details.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he apologized, “I cannot say for sure. What I certainly remember though is the overwhelming need I felt to defend the king at all costs. I don’t mind admitting to you that the sight of that beast would have been enough to make me flee for protection and seclusion. It was only the thought of your father and my sworn duty to protect him that forced me to confront the beast.” He placed his right arm across his stomach to touch the deep cuts on his side. “Though it seems now it may have all been in vain.”

The princess did her best to remain composed, trying to cast the image out of her mind of her father being torn apart by the beast the guard described.

“I thank you for your loyalty to the king, and for your bravery on his behalf,” she stated in an official tone, “If he is yet alive, it will be because of those like you who stood their ground to protect him. Get some rest and please let me know if you begin to recollect any more of what happen.”

She called for the servant to open the door and began to make her exit, when she paused.

“It is your thinking then that the beast is still at this moment alive and well?” she asked him, turning around in the doorway.

“Yes,” the guardsman said softly, squinting from the torches outside his room that now cast their light into his dark chamber, “I know I myself made no substantial injury to the beast, nor do I remember any of my companions being successful in that regard either. In one swing of my sword, I remember the beast crying out in pain, but so far as I could tell at the time, I had only grazed the talons on his right forelimb.”

The princess nodded and made her way out into the hallway. It was dinner time, and until that very moment, she had not realized just how hungry she was. She had ate very little since hearing the news of the attack on her father, but the pains in her stomach now insisted she eat something substantial. She walked down the familiar hallways to the dining hall, where another servant stood to open the door for her. As she entered, she saw her brother already seated at the table, waiting for her arrival.

“Did you speak to the guard?” Renier asked, standing in respect as the princess approached and waited until she sat down before he did the same.

“I did,” Eva answered, “He is clearly traumatized by the whole incident and understandably so. Seems Father and his men encountered a most horrific creature in the woods.”

The two sat there silently as a servant placed a large meal of fish, vegetables, and bread upon the large table. The brother and sister sat opposite one another, with the king’s seat at the head noticeably and painfully empty.

“Many a mystery lurks inside that forest,” Renier observed, spreading a thick amount of butter upon his slice of bread, “I have heard of very strange things indeed that are said to be within those woods. Whispering pines, magical elves, and now—ferocious beasts that descend from the sky.”

Eva swallowed her forkful of fish and looked seriously at her brother. “So you think there’s more than one of these beasts?”

Renier shrugged and bit into his bread. “I’d like to think there’s only one,” he responded with a full mouth, “But when you kill one rat in the house, there are most certainly others from whence it came.”

Eva paused in her eating to consider what her brother had said. “That’s a frightening thought for any who would travel through that forest,” she stated, “I wonder if we should close off its entrance to the public. At least until we know exactly what is going on in there.”

Renier took a break from eating to consider her proposal. “I think that’s a good idea,” he concluded, “We are responsible for the people’s safety after all. I’ll see to it that all traffic is forbidden in the forest until we get more answers.” He happily resumed his eating. “And who knows,” he continued, “We might be wrongfully assuming the worst here. Maybe there is only one beast and one of Father’s men was able to take him down…”

Eva shook her head. “Unlikely. When I spoke to the guard he said he himself was only able to cut the—“

She stopped, her eyes suddenly wide. She did not finish the sentence, and found that her recently returned appetite had disappeared in an instant.

Renier, who was holding his goblet of wine, raised his eyebrows at her.

“Well?” he pushed, “The guard said he was only able to cut the….what?”

Eva could feel her face getting pale, though she tried as hard as she could to appear composed and unconcerned. She finally shook her head as if to dismiss the whole thing.

“The horns,” she lied, “He said this beast had horns like a ram that he nicked with his sword. That’s all.”

“I see,” Renier replied, taking a long drink from his goblet.

And as he did, Eva stared in silent horror at the bandages that covered the prince’s injured right hand.