Yuletide In Hiding
The freshly fallen snow squeaked as the pressure of a pair of boots compressed it with each step. The Canadian wilderness was blanketed in powder, with more coming down softly in the late December night. The clearing in the valley was a bright white under the moonlight, save a small little house with flickering lights, and smoke elegantly pouring out of the chimney. The boots marched toward this destination in a calm, relaxed motion. There was no need for the hooded figure to hurry.
The sound of wood being split by an ax filled the air well before the destination was reached. As he drew closer, the figure of a man chopping wood became visible. He swung away vigorously, and despite the cold, he wore no coat. The dark red pants with suspenders were paired with a long John shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
“Been a long time, Kris,” the stranger said as he came to a stop within talking distance.
The man chopping wood stopped and straightened up without turning around. His breath visibly exhaled in a heavy sigh. “That’s not my name.” He slowly turned around to face the stranger.
A wry smile reached to the corners of the traveler’s mouth. “Oh I’m sorry, what was it again? Nicholas?”
“That was a long time ago and isn’t my name either,” the man said in exasperation. He set down the ax and brushed his hands before crossing his arms across his chest. “What are you doing here Odin?”
“Can’t a god just visit an old friend?” he asked. “Especially when he’s a saint?”
“That was centuries ago, and I never asked for any of it,” he replied. “That’s why I hid out here in the middle of nowhere, to be left alone. So I’ll ask you again, what are you doing here?”
A frown began to cross Odin’s face. “I’ve been rather generous with you, letting you play out this life, have I not?” With only a moment’s pause he added, “Saint Nick?”
“I don’t have the time for or interest in this,” he waved off as he turned to go inside.
“Don't turn your back on me!” Odin yelled. Thunder seemed to growl in the night sky, and two large crows landed in front of the man, crying out loudly for him to return his focus to Odin. “I’ve given you centuries Baldr. You shall return to your rightful place, as I extend my forgiveness for all you’ve done.”
“Your forgiveness?” he screamed, turning back to face the Allfather. It echoed in the valley, much like the thunder moments ago had. “You who should be asking me for it, are granting forgiveness?!”
The lone eye of Odin narrowed in anger. He spoke in a lowered tone, yet it was the firmest thing any mortal would have ever heard. “Careful you do not say anything which you can not take back boy. This is not a discussion. You will…”
He was cut off as Baldr threw a knife at the foot of the old god. It stuck in the snow and ground exactly at the front of his boot. “I’ll do nothing you tell me to,” he verbally sparred back.
For a moment nothing happened. The echoes of their conversation had died off and the two Norse gods stood still, staring each other down. It may have been a calm before the storm, but to any onlooker it would have looked like a stalemate.
Odin made the first move, in a flash hurtling himself toward his target. Baldr anticipated his father’s first move, and sidestepped while grabbed him. Using the momentum of the attack he threw Odin twenty yards into a tree. The crack was almost thunder like, and the tree folded over as he slid to the ground. He quickly stood up and brushed the snow off himself then glared back at his son. The sky grumbled with real thunder. It was hard to whether lightning was actually flashing in his eyes or if it was just reflection of the sky, but the rage was unmistakable.
A war cry erupted from Odin as he again hurtled himself at his son. This time he unleashed his sword ready to strike. Baldr quickly backed up and grabbed the ax he had been chopping wood with. It was just in enough time, as he turned to Odin’s strike. The ax had been raised just enough to catch the attack, which he then swung away from him into the ground. Sliding the ax down the sword he used the momentum with a twist to return an attack of his own. Odin, somehow seeing enough of the attack on his eyeless side, quickly leaned back and only received a shallow scratch across his chest. In the process he pulled his sword up and returned a similar scratch to Baldr’s stomach. While both mere scratches to them, for any mortal they would have been enough to kill.
Surprising his son by the quick response, Odin dove into a tackle while Baldr was still processing that he had been attacked. The tackle crashed them both into the wall of the cabin, leaving a large crack from the ground to the ceiling. Baldr struggled but was able to return an attack, grabbing Odin’s head and slamming it against the wall to his left. The cabin groaned as the crack deepened. Swinging the Allfather around the opposite direction, he hurtled him into the cabin on his right. The cabin conceded, as Odin crashed through the wall into the modest building’s kitchen and living area.
Baldr took in what he had just done, shocked and angry that his home had taken the brunt of this fight. That moment was the opening Odin needed, firing out of the building like a cannon ball. Hitting Baldr right in the chest the two hurtled a hundred feet before landing in the snow, sliding another forty feet. Before they had come to a complete stop Odin had begun swinging unrelenting.
“You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” Odin screamed, swinging fist after fist. “You’ll relent and come back with me, or you’ll die here.”
Blow after blow continued to land. Baldr tried to recover, but Odin was too quick. He tried to say something but there was no chance to get anything out. Suddenly Odin was off him, and yelling in his own struggle. Baldr sat up, looking around confused as to what had just happened. He took in the sight of a large figure. Sleipnir, Odin’s old horse, had knocked Odin off him, and now stood between the two gods. Heavy breaths puffed out of the great horse’s nostrils, as it stabbed several of it’s eight hooves into the snow.
As he recognized what had happened, Odin shouted as he struggled to stand up,, “You took my horse too? I’ll send you to Hel!”
“I didn’t steal your horse,” Baldr yelled back, readying himself for another attack.
Odin tried to move but Sleipnir cut him off, regardless of which way he moved. It only angered him more. “You’ve betrayed me beyond any way I could imagine. Such selfishness I could never have imagined from you!”
“Betrayal?” Baldr yelled back. “What are you talking about? I did nothing but walk away from your Wild Hunt.”
“You stole my horse and impersonated me,” replied Odin. “You’ve made a mockery of me with these new tellings of Santa Claus.”
Baldr was stunned. “That’s what this has been about? I’ve had nothing to do with the imaginations of these people from Midgard.”
“You lie,” replied Odin, venom dripping on the words. He took a step forward, trying to step to the side of Sleipnir, but the horse eyed him moving with him. He scoffed. “You’ve even seduced my horse into your servitude to conspire against me.”
“You’re still touched with madness,” Baldr shook his head and brushed snow off his clothes. “You went mad leading your Hunt, and left destruction in your wake. I couldn’t take it anymore and left. I felt bad for the people who celebrated Yule despite having just had their lives upended by your Hunt’s visit. I left gifts for them to try in the smallest way possible to make up for your vile behavior.”
“You are in league with Loki, judging from your lies. You clearly and purposely took my horse to sell your imitation of me.”
“Are you so self centered you can not see the truth?” Balder pleaded. “You were so vile Sleipnir left you of his own accord. He happened to find me as I was trying to make amends for you, and stayed with me. There was no stealing that happened.” He paused to calm his tone. “I can not help that those here in Midgard created more fables about what I had done, anymore than I could stop you in your madness from causing harm.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Odin agreed after several moments considering it, softening his tone a bit. “But I am cured of my madness. And I do not want you here in any way, shape, or form taking credit for my likeness anymore. It is time to return to the Wild Hunt.”
“Is this simply jealousy?” Baldr asked.
“Perhaps it is,” Odin stroked his beard. “However I started giving gifts during Yule, I should be the one that they are thinking about. I’ve let you take the credit long enough, it is time to return.”
“My return doesn’t eliminate them myth the humans have created,” Baldr volleyed back. “I’m happy here. The quiet and nature here have kept me from being discovered for hundreds of years. I’m not yet ready to return, and when I am ready it will be to Asgard, not to the Hunt.”
The clouds returned to Odin’s face. “You will return as I want. Perhaps it is petty jealousy, nonetheless I will tolerate your Santa Claus persona on Midgard no more. Come we will leave.”
Baldr shook his head in disbelief. “You really think you can just snap your fingers and return me where I don’t want to be like nothing happened? As if I am not a god as well?”
“I do, and I will.”
They stood there for what seemed like another eternity. A standoff of the gods, with a great beast of an eight legged horse standing between them. Finally Baldr broke the silence.
“I have a proposal for you. Rather than pulling me back and still accepting all the praise you claim I am receiving, why not reclaim the praise you claim is yours to receive?”
“Go on,” the Allfather said, considering the words.
“I never wanted this,” Baldr said. “I simply felt bad for those who were affected by your mad Hunt. The rumors grew organically as any myth or story telling humans tell do. At this point, it’s a life of it’s own, that I’ve had nothing to do with. They tell their children that Santa will visit if they’re good, and buy the presents themselves. So what would be more fitting to claim your praise back than actually adopting the moniker?”
“You would have the Allfather deliver gifts to children across the world?” Odin scoffed. “That is beneath me. Come, we will return to the Hunt.”
“It’s not beneath you,” Baldr replied. “In fact, as you’ve pointed out, you did start this. And what better way would there be for you to accept your actual praise, as well as pay your penance for all you did while mad, than to return to the Santa Claus moniker that evolved from what you did all that time ago?”
Odin appeared to be thinking this over. Before he could argue, Baldr continued. “You also haven’t taken into account that it would be that much more relevant praise for you to receive in the modern day. Children grow up, and discover there is no Santa, or any of the other monikers parents have med up for him. If you would begin to deliver gifts to children again, the magnitude of an actual real Santa would have immense credit, and it would all be going to the real original Santa.”
“And what would you get in return for giving up this moniker?” Odin asked.
“Simply, I stay here and am left alone until I tire of it and return to Asgard,” Baldr replied.
Odin thought about it for a few minutes. “And Sleipnir would be returned to me?”
“How does one return a wild beast that was never theirs,” Baldr shrugged. “I did nothing to have the horse follow me, and have done nothing to keep it in my company. If the horse truly belongs to you, I suspect the lack of madness will be sufficient for it to follow you.”
Odin nodded, and walked toward the horse. It was defensive at first, but soon allowed him to pet it. Odin walked around the horse now, inspecting it as if he hadn’t already made up his mind.
“Very well. It shall be as you have laid out,” he said climbing onto the horse. “I shall expect you back in Asgard no more than three hundred of these Midgard years from now.”
“That is agreeable,” Baldr nodded, “Saint Nick.”
Odin did his best to hide his excitement at yet another title. He nudged Sleipnir into motion and within a few strides was riding off into the air and waved to his son.
“Don’t forget, the celebration of Yule is only a few days away,” Baldr yelled after him as he waved in return as he headed back to inspect the cabin’s damage.
Odin cursed to himself, realizing that he had suddenly taken on a lot of work in a short amount of time. Of course he could do it, but he couldn’t help but think he may have come away from the dealing with his son with the worse end of the deal. He shook his head.
“Maybe it wasn’t my son,” he said to himself as the horse carried him across the sky. “Perhaps I have fallen for another of Loki’s tricks.”