Mrs. Claus and the Winter Storm

The storm came a few years after Santa had started delivering toys to children in the villages surrounding ours in Northern Norway. We were so very happy together, and, having no plans to have children of our own, we just wanted to have a way to spread that joy and the wonder of the solstice season to those who might not otherwise feel they had anything to celebrate.

Living where we live, snow doesn’t deter us. Cold temperatures are something our blood has adjusted to, even Klaus, who came to live here three decades ago from somewhere warmer. So when I say that we had a blizzard unlike anything we’d ever seen before, I want you to understand my full meaning. We had drifts two meters high, temperatures of -30C. It was three weeks until Christmas, so we were both busy in our cozy cottage crafting and imagining up gifts for all the children from the surrounding villages. We were able to use fire magic to keep our hearthfire running especially hot, to battle against the cold air that seeped in from every log seam and door crack. So the storm raging outside had little affect on our happiness. Only one thing was furrowing Klaus’s brow.

“What if the snow doesn’t melt enough by midwinter? What if I can’t bring the toys to all the kinder, and they have to go without?”

“What if we ruin Christmas?”

I stood beside his chair as his eyes filled with worry and fear, and rubbed his shoulders.

“The snow will melt, dear heart. And even if it does not, we will figure out a way to deliver the toys. After all, we both have a bit of magic in us.”

Even a bespelled fire requires wood to feed it, at least using the techniques we knew back then. (Oh how much we’ve learned!) So I decided to distract Klaus from his thoughts with a request to run to the woodpile outside.

The woodpile is on the most shielded side of our house, a mere eight feet from the door. So I found myself quite concerned when a minute stretched to five, then ten. That was when I opened the heavy oak door, wincing against the blast of snow and wind that immediately barged into the room, and peered through narrowed eyes out into the snow. I could barely see a thing against the storm, but I finally saw a Klaus-shaped shadow in all the white, about thirty feet from where I stood. I could also see where he had trudged through the snow to get there, then back, then out again. Klaus glanced back at the doorway where I stood. The warm glow must have seemed a mirage to him out among all the blinding white. The wind was in our favor, and I could hear him as he shouted to me “I need a little help, Ingefaer!”

I left the door slightly ajar, knowing that we might need the light to help us find our way back, and set out down the path he had trod. When I got closer, I saw he had brought out our large sled we used for carrying wood back from the forest, and was trying to push a large something onto it. It wasn’t until I was right next to him that I could see it was a juvenile reindeer, but with fur the color of the snow that surrounded us. I let out a gasp when I saw its red ears. It was a faerie animal, and how it had made its way here, I had no idea. As he bent to roll it onto the sledge, the animal’s head tipped my way, and his nose, ruddy to match his ears, glowed with a light that pierced through even the thick snow. I had wondered how Klaus had even seen this beautiful animal in the storm, and now I suspected the answer.

“One, two, thrEEEE,” Klaus groaned, and we both gave a massive shove that settled the animal onto the wood planks. He nodded to me and we each took a side of the rope. I made a quick gesture and whispered a few words of a spell to lighten the load for us. Thankfully it worked: my magic was sometimes a bit unpredictable when it abuts against anything from Faerie. The journey was still slow, but we were aided by the glow of his muzzle as we made our way back to the sanctuary of our cottage, sliding the sledge right through the wide front door, and settling in a heap on the floor after I firmly closed us in from the storm.

We were both panting, but took only a few seconds to gather our strength before we each turned to the faerie reindeer.

“Is he breathing?” I asked, both to myself and to Klaus.

“He was responsive when I found him in the snow, but just barely,” he replied.

“Let’s get him closer to the fire,” I advised. “But not too close. We don’t want to give him a shock after being half frozen for so long.”

As we carefully pulled the sledge closer to the fire, I could see where he was wounded, and as his blood slowly warmed, he started to bleed on the floor. Rolling my sleeves up, I nodded.

“Right. Let’s get to work.”

Pulling my hair back in a white knot, I walked into the small room we keep for my potions, tinctures, and spell ingredients.

“Klaus,” I called out to him. “We are going to need strips from our old bedsheet. Please cut me about a dozen of them about 30 centimeters wide by 75 centimeters long.”

“And water, of course,” he called back. I’ll get some snow melting for nice clean water.”

“Yes please,” I nodded, and we set to work.

~*~

We worked to slowly warm our new magical friend, and bandage his wounds. I treated the injury (which was on his fetlock, explaining why he had collapsed in the snow, unable to move to a shelter in the storm). Thankfully a few years previously, I had discovered a potion for rapid healing of open wounds. The potion, like iodine, stings, and it made me happy to see his head kick up and his nostrils flare when I gently dabbed it on the wound, but it also is potent and fast acting, at least compared to any non-magical treatments.

We pulled the thick quilt off our bed, poured some water down his throat, pulled the sledge closer to the fire, and settled down on the hearth with a few pillows, looking anxiously at each other, and agreeing to keep watch over him together that night, rotating out to sleep every four hours.

The storm raged for four more days, and our friend, who we had started calling Magic, just so that we didn’t have to keep calling him “that reindeer,” was healing rapidly. By the third day, he was able to sit up with bent knees by the fire, and on the fourth day, he was tentatively struggling to stand. I bound the wound extra tight, and gave him an encouraging click of my teeth. The potion had done its work, and he would soon be ready to make his way back home. As abnormal as it may seem to keep a reindeer by one’s hearthside, I knew I would miss the fellow. I rubbed his glowing muzzle, and murmured gentle words to him. Faerie animals are so intelligent, I wondered just how much he understood.

On the afternoon of that fourth day, the snow suddenly stopped, and we were starting to reluctantly discuss when we should open the door and encourage Magic to make his way back home. Soon, however, the decision was taken from us, when we heard a gentle knocking.

Swallowing hard, and smoothing my hair back, brushing white reindeer fur from my skirt, I walked toward the door. I had a feeling someone would be looking for our patient, and it is best to meet faeries with heads held high, and wits about us. Klaus walked beside me, and we nodded to each other before holding hands as he pulled the door open.

Standing there was a tall, willowy man, with long white hair, and silver eyes that turned up at the corners. He wore a tunic and breeches of moss green, and held a gold bridle in his hands.

“It seems you found something I lost. May I come in?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish us good or ill?”

“No ill. The good may depend on how I find my dear friend has been treated.”

It was a fair answer. Klaus and I allowed him to come in.

I explained to the stranger how we had found Magic (he raised an amused eyebrow at the name) and how I had treated him. (His eyes glowed with what seemed like respect at my description of the healing).

“It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude.” He pulled a bell from the strap of the reins he was holding, and handed it to us. “When you decide what you would request of me, please ring this bell three times.”

It was more than we possibly could have asked. With another curt nod, the stranger walked over to Magic, stroking his muzzle the same way I had done just earlier that day. Although the faerie man tried to seem aloof and distant around the humans, I could sense the relief in his posture, and the bond between the two of them. He slipped the bridle over Magic’s head, and led him out the door.

We followed behind, and watched as they walked out onto the snow, not even sinking a single inch. Magic bent low, and the stranger jumped onto his back. With a mischievous smile, he gave the reindeer a gentle nudge, and….they flew away.

I gasped, and heard Klaus’ sharp intake of breath beside me as well.

“Did you know?” he asked me.

“No, did you?” He shook his head.

~*~

The storms were over, but the bitter cold remained. A week passed, then two, and then we were two days away from the Midwinter celebrations, and Klaus still had no way to deliver the toys to the villages.

That’s when we rang the bell.

We explained our predicament to the stranger, when he arrived just a few moments later. Magic was radiating good health, and his nose glowed with a brightness that made our hearts fill with joy.

“So you see, we wondered then if we might borrow him for the night? If he might be able to drive my sleigh so that I can deliver the toys not through the heavy snow, but through the sky?” Klaus explained.

“And,” I said, knowing that an opportunity like this might not come again. “We wondered if it might be too much to ask if we could borrow him for this one night each year? For as long as we continue delivering toys to the children of the villages?”

Faerie folk have a fondness for children, even human children. You can see this in the folklore of changelings, and the fact that most of those who believe in faeries (and, also Santa Claus, incidentally) are the young. We saw his eyes soften, and then he started to laugh; the most unguarded emotion we had seen from him. (Yet…but that’s another story.)

“I think I can accept that request. You’ll have my Runeolf for one night each year,” he agreed.

And that, dear friends, is the origin story of Runeolf the red-nosed faerie reindeer.