• A Gaia Christmas Carol: The Tale of Two Brothers

    Before Gambino, before Aekea’s industrial revolution, during a time when things were still hard for the people of Gaia, the youngest sister of the two most powerful men died. Her name was Mary. She died in early December, on the day of the first snow.

    Her older brother, Nick—the wealthiest man in all of Gaia—came to her wake early and stayed only for a few minutes. He did not look at his sister. He did not wear black. He wore his golden jewelry and the rich, deep colors of wealth, red and green. He wore his wizard’s make up—for he was indeed a prominent wizard—and seemed aloof and distant. He patted his nephew and niece, whose names he could not remember, on their heads and left. His only thought concerning his sister, her children and the funeral was this:

    “I will send a man over to hire them to work in a factory.”

    Nick owned almost all the businesses in Gaia. He was also a moneylender. Once, long ago, he had been an inventor. As his inventions and spells grew in demand, he opened businesses, and money—rather than creation—became his new love. Thanks to his wealth, he had the most beautiful home in all of Gaia. Huge, opulent, it had over a hundred rooms and two expansive gardens. Nick had over two hundred servants who cared for his every need.

    Those servants had the best job in all of Gaia.

    And they hated it.

    Mary’s eldest brother, Ebenezer—the most powerful wizard and warlord in all of Gaia—came to her wake very late and stayed only for a few minutes. He did not glance at his nephew and niece. His gaze was only for his dead sister, her expression serene, white and frozen. He wore the blue, white and black of his wizard’s robes, and his wizard’s make up. His clothing was a mark of his prestige, because Ebenezer was the sole head of Gaia University and the sole ruler of most of Gaia. He was cold and unyielding. Everyone cowered in fear of him. No one thought he knew the children’s names, but even if he did, he would never have acknowledged them. His only thought concerning his sister, her children and the funeral was this:

    “Mary should have followed in my footsteps.”

    Ebenezer owned every official, mayor, governor and teacher in Gaia. He had wanted the magic to control fate, became a warrior, wizard and scholar and took control. Every leader was his puppet. All the power belonged to him. He placed himself at the highest point in Gaia. He lived in the tallest tower of the University, surrounded by books and forever in his laboratory. No one could enter the University to learn anymore—his requirements for entry were too strict, too harsh and too impossible. And those who could stay in the University quickly began to dwindle. The halls were empty and hollow, and only a handful of old men aside from Ebenezer roamed its halls. It had become his palace from which he watched over his domain. His magic grew and grew, until all in Gaia feared him, his brutality, and his cruelty.

    Part of Gaia belonged to the wealthy, uncaring, greedy Nick.

    Most of Gaia belonged to the frightening, powerful, cold-hearted Ebenezer.

    But despite this, the citizens of Gaia let their festive natures grow for the oncoming Christmas season. Carols were sung in the streets. People were called upon to give to charities. Mothers and Fathers bought presents. Families hung decorations and gathered together.

    Ebenezer, in his high, frozen tower, ignored the sounds of Christmas with cold, harsh indifference. He pretended it didn’t exist. He continued to work his magic in the silence of his university. He could have banned Christmas altogether had he chosen to. But he did not care enough. He was also smart enough to realize that to offer little was to gain much. Those who slackened off for fun and games, for festivities and songs, were of no concern to him. He would grow more powerful, and they, ever weaker.

    Nick, in his gilded palace, drowned out the sounds and smells of Christmas with his own music and his own food. Christmas was, after all, harvest time for those who dealt with money. He would reap the benefits of Gaian festivities, for all the money they spent went into his pockets, filled his coffers, and put more and more Gaians at his mercy. Their greed fed his greed and that satisfied him a great deal.

    #

    On the 24th of December, Ebenezer and Nick faced the same dilemmas they faced every year. The handful of scholars still left in the University asked their lord and master if they could spend the evening and whole of the 25th with their families. So did his puppet leaders and his soldiers. He acquiesced dismissively.

    “Very well, but that is an entire day wasted, and an entire day that I am even more powerful,” he said, his voice dark and icial. The wizard scholars, soldiers and puppets were terrified, but they still left. It was far more frightening to stay with Ebenezer another day when they could be at home with their families, than to face his wrath the day after Christmas. The respite was coveted like a slave covets freedom. Besides, they all knew that one day would not change their fates. On the 26th, Ebenezer would still control all of Gaia.

    Nick dealt with a similar situation. His businesses wished to close for Christmas day. His servants wished to take the day off to spend it with their families. He cursed their laziness. “Give me one good reason why I should close my businesses and my factories?” Nick shouted. One brave soul—his valet, Bob—told him that none of the usual patrons will be out Christmas day. They will be home celebrating with their families, or enjoying festivities in the streets. He would have no one to do business with. Nick grudgingly agreed, but demanded that every business and factory be open all the earlier the next day and to sack anyone who arrived late. None argued, because all were grateful for one day of freedom.

    So on Christmas Eve, Nick sat alone by his grand fireplace, drinking fine wine and counting gold coins. On the other side of Gaia, Ebenezer poured over his spells, his plans, and did the paperwork for those who would die the day after Christmas.

    #

    Midnight on Christmas Eve in the golden mansion. The flames in Nick’s fireplace flickered and dimmed, casting a chill into the room. He stared at the fire. A draft? From through the chimney? Unlikely. The house was perfectly designed to attend to his every comfort. He stood up and put down his wine. But the fire had indeed gone down, and there was chill in the room. He grabbed a poker and stabbed the logs. A wind howled and extinguished the fire.

    Nick froze. “Who’s there? What game is this? You’ll be out on the streets in seconds once I discover who is toying with me.”

    A whispery soft giggle echoed in the room. The fine white hairs on the back of Nick’s nape stood on end. “Show yourself!” he shouted into the still, dark room. His hands began to wave to cast a spell. A spell to punish the intruder.

    “Nick.”

    His spell withered and died. He turned toward the fireplace, certain it had come from there. The word had been whispered, like the breath of the wind.

    “Nick.”

    Louder now, coming from the window instead of the fireplace? His hands shook as he tried to use them again to cast a spell. Not to attack, but to defend himself.

    “Nick.”

    He whirled around, cold sweat running down his clammy skin. His hands shook, and he was unable to form words on his lips. His softly whispered name had brushed his ear like frozen lips. He breathed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. It felt as if it was trying to escape. Truth be told, Nick had forgotten he had one.

    “Nick.”

    The voice was crystal clear now, a woman’s voice, and he turned around. Sitting in his chair was a shrouded specter. Ethereal, translucent and chained. He couldn’t see her face, but fear—the first time he had felt fear since he couldn’t remember when—settled in his gut.

    “Hello, Nick,” the specter said. “I am Polaris. I have come, this Christmas Eve, to warn you. Your immortal soul is in danger. Forevermore will you be bound by the chains of your own making. Your greed, your indulgence, your lack of compassion for your fellow man chokes you, diminishes you, and you will be nothing but ash, trapped forever.”

    The specter floated up and toward him. Nick took a step back, lifting an arm in fear. “Do not harm me, spirit.”

    “I will not harm you,” came the whispering, bell-like voice. “Your descent into Hell is the only thing that can harm you. But a recently passed voice has asked the spirits to try and save your already damned soul.” An ethereal, misty hand lifted to Nick’s face. He flinched. The spirit floated away, the misty quality of her form spread and thinned. “You will be visited by three spirits tonight. The first at the stroke of one. Heed their lessons and their words so you may have a chance to save your soul.”

    “I’ve had enough of ghostly visits,” Nick said as a wind began to howl through the room, his ornaments and possessions falling over from the strength of the gust. He brought up his arms to protect his face has his white hair and red and green coat whipped around his face and body.

    “Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one.” Polaris’s words were swallowed up by the winds. Then the spirit was gone. The winds stopped. The fire came alive again behind Nick, lighting up the room. Everything was still in disarray, casting irrefutable proof that he had just been visited by a being beyond the grave.

    The echo of the ghost’s last words sounded in his ears. Nick sank to the ground onto his knees. He brought a hand to his face.

    “Mary?”

    #

    Midnight on Christmas Eve in the frozen tower. Ebenezer had his bright blue will o’ the wisps hovering close so he could see the list of those to be executed on the 26th. They would have died on the 25th, but his executioner—like all his other subordinates—had taken the day off. So these men had a day of respite, knowing Christmas day was their last day alive. They had plenty to be thankful for.

    There was no fire in the tower. Icicles hung from the only window like bars. Icicles circled the edge of the roof. The air was thin and frozen so high up, but Ebenezer did not feel the cold.

    Hm. There was still plenty of time open for more executions. Ebenezer began to move a few up. He needed his executioner to stay busy after all, especially after a day off.

    A will o’ the wisp vanished.

    Ebenezer looked up, eyes narrowed. He had not commanded it to retreat. He began to cast the spell to summon it again, when another winked out of existence. His hand clenched into a fist. What was this?

    Ebenezer stood and another light disappeared. He began to cast a searching spell, to see who dared interfere with his work by dismissing his will o’ the wisps. But as he began to voice the words of the spell, each wisp left began to vanish in rapid succession. Anger flared up in Ebenezer and exploded from him the moment his tower plunged into darkness.

    “Who dares interfere with my work?” he snarled into the dark. “You will be lucky if I do not find you first. Should I find you, I will rip you apart with my bare hands and you will wish you were dead every second of it.”

    He began to cast another spell.

    “Ebenezer.”

    He froze. It was a wail. A sound akin to dying and it grabbed onto his name with skeletal hands. It chilled his bones in a way that no weather could.

    “Ebenezer.”

    Louder. Longer. Desperate. He turned around, his gaze searching the darkness for the voice. He felt hands grasping at his ankles and at the hem of his coat. With a shout, he jumped away and began to throw around the furniture with his magic, casting spells to stop the voice and the fool who dared this.

    “Ebenezer!” the voice screeched. The tower trembled and all magic stopped in the room. The furniture dropped from the air and crashed onto the floor. Papers, bottles, books, tools, all of them lay scattered in a mess.

    Ebenezer looked around the room in horror—wondering who living could have the magic and power to stop his magic.

    “Nothing living,” came a woman’s whisper by his ear that stabbed ice into his spine. Ebenezer whirled around and faced a specter. It had the form of a woman, but she was shrouded and chained. Her translucent hands reached for him. Ebenezer stumbled back, and his heart hammered hard against his ribs. He lifted a hand to it, his breathing shallow, as if uncertain where the strange beating was coming from.

    “I am Polaris. I have come, this Christmas Eve, to warn you. Your immortal soul is in danger. Forevermore will you be bound by the chains of your own making. Your cruelty, your brutality, your lack of compassion for your fellow man chokes you, diminishes you, and you will be nothing but ash, trapped forever.”

    “What?” Ebenezer said, his voice harsh and broken. By the gods. He was afraid.

    “Your descent into Hell is inevitable and unstoppable. But a recently passed voice has asked the spirits to try and save your already damned soul.”

    “Why?”

    A small smile crossed the lips of the spirit. That smile, familiar and tender, halted Ebenezer’s breath. “You will be visited by three spirits tonight. The first at the stroke of one. Heed their lessons and their words so you may have a chance to save your soul.”

    “No…”

    The specter began to fade, its misty image spreading and thinning into nothingness. “Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one.”

    Then Polaris was gone. The will o’ the wisps did not return. The office and laboratory were still disasters. The room was shrouded in darkness. Ebenezer fell to his knees as he gasped for breath.

    “Mary?”