The Snowman: A Soulsmas Carol
The blacksmith sighed. His breath, caught by the snatching fingers of the winter night's air, billowed out across the night in grey wisps.
A pellet of ice struck the back of his neck and he shivered, goosebumps flecking across his well-worn shoulders.
His boy was a few feet ahead, stooped low to the ground. His hands were a flurry of movement as they crafted. Created. Despite the bitter cold, the blacksmith couldn't resist a smile at the sight of his young son already taking such a joy from art.
"What are you doing, Max?" he called. "It's going to be dark soon."
His boy didn't reply – the only sign of his acknowledgement was a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"Aren't you cold out here?" the smith asked, rubbing his own gloved hands together as though to demonstrate.
"Willow isn't cold, so neither am I."
Max hadn't even turned his head, his tiny voice like a birdsong in a hurricane as the snowfall continued to pick up. The smith peered over his shoulder at the mound of snow that was starting to take form in front of his boy.
"I'll make you some nice, warm Estus Soup," the smith offered. "Tomorrow, you can bring Willow a bowl if you like."
"Don't be silly, Dad," Max replied, somewhat sharply. "Willow is made of snow, so eating soup would melt her."
"Well, you're smarter than me, that's for sure," the smith replied, forcing a laugh that sounded like the creaking of an unkempt forge.
"Just give me a minute," Max cried, as his hands worked like a blur, smoothing the edges of his icy companion until they were as flat as the frigid tundra that surrounded them.
Satisfied, he took a step back, and spread his arms out enthusiastically.
"Do you like her?"
The smith rubbed at his beard. "She's very… pretty, I suppose?"
The snow-woman glared at him with its beady-black pebble eyes as its crooked smile dared him to speak again. The raggedy hat which sat upon its frozen scalp slipped further down her head as it was buffeted by the gust.
"Is that your grandpa's?" the smith asked, making no attempt to conceal his amusement.
"No," Max replied quickly. "Maybe… Yes…"
The smith laughed heartily. "Alright, indoors now. It's time for supper."
Hand in hand, father and son turned heel, and started on the winding path back into the city. Willow watched them leave, the wind dislodging one of her gravel teeth as the snow continued to fall in a vortex all around.
The two robed men entered the Cathedral, carefully wiping their sleet-dampened fur boots on the doormat, before taking them off and setting them down against the wall.
The guard on duty sat up rigidly in his chair at the sound of their approach, his elongated helmet banging noisily against the stone wall that lay behind.
"Evening, gentlemen," he greeted. "My lord will not be seeing visitors tonight, unfortunately. He has elected to spend the evening with Alsanna. It is, after all, Christmas Eve."
The first priest bowed his head respectfully. "I understand. Yet I must press for his audience all the same. We bear grave tidings."
"Indeed," the second chimed in. "We're afraid to say, this matter cannot be postponed."
The guard sighed, clearly put out at the thought of disturbing his master. "Very well. I will see if he shall hear you."
Once the clanking of the towering knight had retreated around the corner, the two priests leapt into action, throwing down their hoods and disrobing. As their woollen cloaks sank onto the floor, the men clasped their fists at their sides, eyes shut tight in concentration as the first embers of flame began to spark between their fingertips.
"The flame is strong tonight," the first noted, as he slowly opened his palm, and the flame concealed within started to spread across his flesh.
"She has waited long enough," the second agreed.
As the two men brought their pyromancy flames into life, they set off towards the main hall, wasting little time. With every footfall, their anticipation grew, manifesting itself in an increased warmth inside of their palms.
As they entered the wide hall, they heard a startled voice from their left.
"What are you doing?"
The pyromancers turned their heads sharply as another knight of Eleum Loyce charged at them from out of the shadows, brandishing a pristine silver blade in one hand and a firm shield in the other. The man was barely upon them before the first had cast an enormous wreath of fire, the licking flames engulfing his armour in seconds.
As the knight screamed, his armaments clattering to the ground as they dropped from his flaming fingers, the second pyromancer bunched his fist tightly, summoning a huge pillar of flame which burst explosively out of the ground beneath the knight's feet. Whatever was left of the valiant soldier fell into a cindering heap, as his ashes were blown violently across the room.
"Our apologies," the first pyromancer said. "Sincerely. But the Old Chaos must feed again."
A set of stone stairs at the end of the room led the way into the king's throne room. The two idle guards by the doorway had already leapt into action at the sound of their brethren's demise, but were quickly dispatched with a burst of flame from the two men's palms. As their adversaries simmered on the ground, the pyromancers strode into the throne room, stopping short of the large seal that lay over the ground just a few feet ahead.
"Mother," the two men exclaimed, dropping to his knees in praise. "We have heard your cries. Let there be no more pain. Let there be no more suffering."
"I don't think I'll be having any of that."
The first pyromancer, who had his arm in the air in anticipation, turned around angrily at the sound of the voice. "You dare interrupt?"
The figure at the top of the stairs took a step forward, his silver armour shimmering in the candlelight.
"I am your king," he declared. "That is my right."
The two pyromancers clenched their fists, the second angrily addressing the figure. "You may have been a king back in your country, but in Eleum Loyce, Chaos is our only ruler."
"And an unfit rule that shall be," the Ivory King retorted, unsheathing his gigantic great-sword and swinging it around to his side with a mighty whoosh.
The pyromancers started to hurl great balls of flame at the king, but be dived around them, demonstrating his superior speed. In mere moments, he was upon them, his sword arcing through their bodies and spilling their blood across the cobbles. The second pyromancer, who unlike his comrade had not died instantly, lay on the ground seething, as his innards slowly spooled out.
"You are a fool's ruler," he whispered. "A jester."
The Ivory King stood tall and still, unfazed.
"That may be so, but the anarchy of flame will never burn my people away."
The pyromancer hissed softly, and finally fell still. Brushing the bodies of his fallen foes away, the king approached the seal, tentatively placing his hand upon its steel surface. He took a sharp breath as he felt the rumbling vibrations from the chasm beneath. A veritable, living consciousness, forever boiling below.
As the king withdrew his hand, he heard a tremendous growl from the deep, and tensed.
"Not today," he whispered. "Not today."
Out in the field below the great walls of Eleum Loyce, the snowman stood still like a sentinel against the harrowing winter winds. Its dainty stick arms creaked against their sockets under the relentless elemental assault, condensation dripping down its back as it weathered its task with determined stoicism.
The wind rendered all other sounds inaudible, the screaming snowstorm forming a vacuum from which no voice could escape.
Except one.
It started as a whisper, somehow as clear as though it were directed straight into one's ear. Soon, other voices emerged, amalgamating with the original and warping it from a soft suggestion into a droning demand.
"Feed me," it cooed. "Feed us."
The tendrils of chaos, invisible to the naked eye, curled up out of the snow like wisps of black smoke, the acrid stench of sulphur billowing outwards in all directions.
"Feed."
All around the snowman, the earth started to heave. Through the ice, layers thick enough to line plate armour, cracks started to split the ground into pieces, elongated, demonic fingers slowly reaching out to feel the air.
The first rose from the ground, pulling itself upwards with spindly arms. A head, obtuse and practically-prismatic in shape, reared up on a neck made of ice so thick it could've felled a tree. As the golem stood erect in the cold onslaught, it reached out a hand, conjuring an enormous icicle spear in one hand, before striking it into the ground firmly.
The snowman watched as the army of ice slowly rose from the ground, one at a time, like the dead and buried from centuries ago were rising from their graves. Each clutched at their side a weapon forged purely of snow; tempered by a fiery hatred.
Nearly a hundred strong, the golem legion turned their attention to the high walls that surrounded Eleum Loyce.
Suddenly, they didn't look so high any more.
The howling wind beat against the boy's window like a raging fist, his shutters quivering under the assault. As he stared out through the glass pane, observing the flittering of snow as it twirled and pirouetted, he felt his whole body go colder. Even his bed was starting to feel increasingly like a slab of ice, the frigid touch like a blade on his skin.
He was suddenly aware of a presence across the room, and turned sharply, expecting to see his wardrobe door open, and a pair of demonic eyes leering at him from the shadow.
What he did see was much stranger, but no less disconcerting.
A snowman – his snowman was in the doorway. It was a perfect match for his own, up to its slightly-tilted head and laughable woolly scarf.
If he wasn't so cold he could nearly feel the frost forming on the back of his neck, the boy could've sworn he was dreaming.
"Are you real?" he whispered, quite unsure as to whether he should feel terrified or in awe. Or both.
The snowman was very still, and for a moment the boy chastised himself for being silly enough to try and talk to a snowman, even despite its mysterious appearance in his home.
But then, it spoke. Its pebble-stone mouth did not so much as twitch, and the voice that emerged from it resonated inside of his head, rather than in his ears.
"No, this is all a dream," it said, voice comforting somehow, and soft and silky like a jar of honey. "But that doesn't mean you have to wake up."
The boy rubbed at his eyes, trying to ascertain whether this was true or not. Hesitantly, he hopped out of bed, wincing at the cold touch of the floorboards on his feet.
"What are you doing here?" he asked timidly.
"Your Christmas wish brought me to life," the snowman explained. Its voice continued to soothe, without a hint of malice, and the boy started to feel his apprehension seeping away. "For one night only, I'm going to show you just how powerful that magic can be."
"Did Santa Claus send you?"
The snowman laughed – a joyous sound, accompanied by breath that the boy imagined smelt strongly of sherry and mince pies.
"There are a great many magics at work tonight," the snowman explained. "I am but one of them."
As though timed perfectly, the end of the snowman's sentence was followed up quickly by the explosive sound of something large and heavy landing outside. From his neighbour's roof, the sound of broken slate and brick tumbling to the ground was audible, and the boy rushed to the window.
Across the way, and currently standing proud and tall on the adjacent roof, was a reindeer. Its horns curved proudly to the sky as though aiming to grace its wispy surface, hooves clattering on the brickwork of the roof. But it was not like any reindeer the boy had ever seen. Its body, head-to-toe, hoof to antler, was made entirely of ice. Unlike his snowman, this reindeer appeared to be more of a manufactured product – it was near-perfect in composition, save for its eyes, which were cold and empty, as one would expect from two pellets of ice.
"What is that?" the boy whispered, as the reindeer drew up, and let out a majestic bleat.
The snowman replied quickly, voice massaging his skull.
"One of the magical creatures that we will encounter tonight. I wouldn't go near it, though. It can have quite the temperament."
As if in demonstration, the reindeer suddenly lurched upwards, propelled by nothing but its own velocity. As the boy watched, the deer reached optimum height, and drew its head back, mouth open as a sphere of shimmering white light started to form inside of its snout.
The boy was entranced by the shifting, pulsating light, and his gaze was only broken when he heard the smashing of wood and stone in his peripheral, and turned sharply to see that the reindeer had released the energy quite sharply, the ball turning into a missile in mid-air and striking one of the opposite houses. Said house was now in absolute ruin, with wood shards sticking outward, and tiny flames like candlewicks spreading over its caved-in surface.
The boy, who had little-to-no comprehension of what he had just seen, broke out in a juvenile grin. "Cool."
The reindeer took off again, soaring over the grey winter skyline.
"It's time to go outside," the snowman informed the boy. "I want to show you some more magic."
The boy needed little persuasion, practically skipping to his front door and throwing on his snowshoes. Stepping out onto his porch, he could see several of his neighbours emerging from their houses, many of them gripping ploughs and sabres. The house that had been demolished had slowly succumbed to the fire, and as the boy watched, one of its occupants stumbled out, tears rolling down his blackened face, as he cradled a lifeless bundle of blankets that could only have been his infant child.
The boy felt something akin to a stabbing guilt that his dream world had been so harsh on the Pevenses, but he quickly reminded himself that all of this was just that: a dream.
"Where are we going next?" the boy asked excitedly.
"I thought we might sit on the city walls," the snowman chuckled. "But that's a long walk away. Let's take the skyline express."
Before the boy could respond, the snowman had lifted him straight into the air, the two of them pulled towards the clouds like pantomimic angels. As the ground grew further and further away, the assembling townsfolk becoming like ants upon a pavement, the boy began to giggle with childish delight.
"Wow! Flying is just like I imagined it would be in all of my dreams!"
"Just wait until you try out your wings," the snowman said, gesturing with one of its stick arms to move forwards.
The boy did so, edging his body forwards weightlessly through the air. To his ecstatic delight, flapping his arms served as a pair of wings, and he started to gently glide across the skyline, peering down at the spires of buildings below.
"Try this," the snowman offered, soaring in a spinning roll through the air, as though he were a kite. The boy copied the gesture, giggling joyously.
"Nearly there now," the snowman cheered, the towering city walls appearing out of the misted night.
The boy's eyes lit up at the sight of the stone turrets, lit up by dozens of huge sconces. He was instantly reminded of a mantelpiece littered with Christmas candles.
"This is amazing!" the boy cried.
The snowman seemed as though it was about to reply, when suddenly it was abruptly cut off by a loud shriek. The boy pivoted just in time to see one of the icy reindeer charging out of the clouds towards him.
He knew it was all a dream, and yet the briefest flash of terror took him over in that split second, moments before the blur of white catapulted straight through the reindeer, its body splintering apart and hailing over the town.
"Some of them get a little eager for petting," the snowman told the boy as it reappeared next to him.
"I would've petted him," the boy said quietly, eyes following the reindeers disintegrated remains as they poured down through the air.
"Don't you worry now, you'll have the chance later," the snowman insisted, pointing again with his wooden fingers. "Here we go."
The pair landed gently on the city wall, the boy rushing over to the wall to look out over the frigid outskirts that lay beyond. The great white tundra was like a desert, barren of life, and seemingly endless. Yet, there was an inspiring quality to it; the eternity of its rolling hills was almost poetic.
"Down there is where you built me," the snowman said, for the first time sounding somewhat melancholic. "From the snow. To where I will most certainly return."
The boy turned to him, shocked. "What? You're leaving?"
The snowman's gaze fell. "I must. The magic that brought me to life wanes after a certain period."
"But…" the boy's train of thought trailed off, derailed by a surge of emotion. "I'll miss you…"
The snowman turned to him and smiled, its pebbly mouth upturned in what looked like a painful gesture of emotion.
"Come now, we still have much time. There is something else I wanted to show you."
The armoury was ablaze with motion; the silvery blur of several fully-kitted Loyce knights charging up and down, pulling blades and hammers off their racks and sheathing them upon their backs and sides.
At the head of it all, the Ivory King stood motionless – a gold and white seraphim against the cold black of the night.
Once the entirety of his legion had assembled, the King took his greatsword out, and held it aloft in the air like a beacon for all to see.
"Men, our city is under attack," he began. The eyes of his army met his own, and he could see their absolute frigid terror. "Now is not the time for hesitation. The people of Eleum Loyce need us. Move out!"
As the silver legion filed out of the barracks and into the cold of the night, the King took out a small tin whistle. The instrument was warm in his palm, despite the temperature of the room, and he clutched it tightly, feeling its peculiar comfort seep through him. Then, he placed it in his lips, and blew.
It only took a few seconds before he heard the enormous pattering of feet outside the barracks. Smiling, the King stepped outside, over to the wisps of steamy breath rendered nearly-invisible by the night.
"Aava," he said softly. "I'm sorry to wake you my sweet, but I require your assistance."
The great beast purred, its snow-white fur illuminated for the briefest of moments by the gleam of the torchlights in the street.
Then, it was gone, bounding into the night. Filled with renewed energy, the King followed suit.
"Here," the snowman gestured, the boy swooping down to join his companion as he came to rest on the side of a great, snowy hill.
"You can see the entire town from up here."
The boy looked down the hill, where the Temple of the High Priestesses was clearly visible, even through the shroud of snowfall.
"It's pretty," he beamed.
Suddenly, he was aware of a movement behind him. Yelping, he threw himself back as a pair of jagged spheres came rolling at him out of the snow, spiked icicles dredging up the earth. Coming to a rest, the duo unfurled themselves.
"Are those… bunny rabbits?" the boy asked nervously as one of the peculiar creature started to sniff at him.
"I doubt it," the snowman proclaimed.
Certainly, the boy had never seen a rabbit with such a pure expression of malevolence. The creatures continued to eye him with their cold, dead eyes, before curling back into their spiked balls and continuing their way, descending the hill and vanishing in the snowstorm.
"Christmas Eve is a strange night indeed," the snowman remarked.
As though perfectly-timed, the boy saw a collection of figures emerge from one of the distant streets and swarm out into the courtyard below the temple. He recognized their ceremonial armour amost immediately.
"What are the Loyce knights doing?"
His question did not go unanswered for long. Soon after the emergence of the knights, another group appeared from out of the temple itself to greet them. At a distance, their forms were difficult to make out, but the boy could see the giant spears of ice that they clutched in their hands. Before he could say a word, one of said spears had been thrown at full pelt through the air, piercing one of the opposing Loyce knights straight through the neck and cleaving his head clean off in a fountain of blood.
"I don't like this anymore," the boy whimpered, covering his eyes as the courtyard swiftly descended into violent anarchy.
"Come," the snowman said softly. "I will take you away from here. There is one last thing I would like you to see."
Prising his fingers apart ever-so-slightly, the boy saw one of the rabbits that had confronted him earlier crash headfirst into a Loyce knight, the man screaming loud enough to wake the dead as he was ploughed into pieces.
"Yep, yep." His voice was faint, and tears were starting to tumble down his cheeks. His bed seemed more welcoming than ever.
The duo took to the skies once more, but there was little wonderment left to be had. The air was frigid, the altitude inertia-inducing. Every so often, the boy would gaze down, and catch another unwelcome glimpse of the carnage that was tearing his city apart.
Golems impaling men on enormous shafts of ice.
Retainers defending their priestess' temple by burying the streets in heaps of immovable snow.
And, every so often, a mass of golems smashed into pieces on the ground by a seemingly-invisible explosion, as some huge creature bounded through the city streets unheard, and unseen.
The warmth of a cup of cocoa seemed like a faraway dream, and even though the boy knew he had only to wake up, he felt like the waking world grew further and further away with every passing second.
The snowman dived, the boy reluctantly following as the pair arrived at the Grand Cathedral, a building majestic in its grandeur, with arching spires visible from miles off.
"What are we doing here?" the boy asked.
The snowman turned to him, and gave him a faint smile.
"Tonight I have given you many presents. Many invaluable gifts. Now, I need you to do something small for me."
The reindeer charged down the alley, its jagged horns bowed in anticipation. The Ivory King leapt against the wall, pushing off swiftly and narrowly vaulting over his aggressor, punishing its carelessness with a blade through the back.
As his feet landed back on the snowy pathway, the king knelt, his breaths disappearing into the blustery night as his chest heaved against his armour.
A few feet away, one of his men had dispatched one of the snow rabbits, his foot crunching down upon its neck as his blade swooped down for the killing blow. Recognising him immediately, the king stood up.
"Gregory, why are you not guarding the throneroom?" he asked sharply.
Gregory took off his helmet sheepishly. "I-I thought you wanted all of us on the streets tonight, sire."
The King's expression shifted from anger to pure terror.
"You mean to tell me that the chaos seal is unguarded?" he shrieked. "Grab as many men as you can and meet me at the Cathedral in five minutes!"
The boy stopped short of the enormous metal seal, turning back to look at his snowman companion confusedly. "What is this thing?"
The snowman forced a smile. In the heat of the room, its face was noticeably melting away. "That's my mother."
"What?"
At such close range, the boy could hear faint sounds emerging from the seal. Inaudible, indecipherable whispers flooded his ears, words like fingers pulling at his earlobe, tempting him closer. Before he had even realised it, the boy's hand was resting upon the metal.
Startled, he took a step backwards, nearly tripping on his own feet. "Why am I here?"
"I need your help," the snowman explained. "My mother has been imprisoned for a very, very long time. I want her to be free. I need you to help her."
"How?" the boy's eyes were brimming with tears, although he could not quite work out why.
"I need you to be a doorway. A conductor. You know, like a branch of wood in a hearth – like your father's. Do you think you could do that?"
"A… doorway?"
The sound of shattering ice in the near-distance broke up the boy's thoughts, and he took another step away. "I… I don't know w-"
"We're friends, aren't we?" The snowman's laboured voice was near-torturous to the child's ears, overwhelmed as he was with many overlapping and conflicting emotions. "Can't you do just this one thing for me, and then we can fly once more?"
The boy nodded, as a tear slipped down his cheek. "Okay. What do I need to do?"
"Empty your thoughts," the snowman said calmly. "Listen to the words of my mother. Let them in."
The boy lay his hand upon the seal, the whispers beginning again in his mind, tickling at the inside of his skull like grains of sand. The longer he listened, the more tangible the voice became, until he could practically see the words being said out loud, and picture the very face of chaos.
"Izalith," the boy whispered, sounding feverish and distant. "I see… Izalith…"
"May the chaos be reborn…"
The snowman, who no longer made any attempt to conceal its true, chaotic nature, broke out in a devilish grin.
Slowly, the warmth began. It started in the tips of his toes, and slowly rose through his whole body, his veins brewing with a raging flame unlike anything he had ever experienced. Lost in the flood of sensation, the boy's mouth fell agape, just as a bright yellow spark burst into life at the back of his throat.
The Ivory King and five of his Loyce knights were charging across the battlements towards the Cathedral when they heard it. There were no comparable sounds; it was as though a volcano had, rather than simply erupted, completely exploded from top to bottom, and magma had been thrown about a hundred feet into the air.
Anything that had been within fifty feet of the throneroom was most certainly dead.
"My gods, what in the name of Caitha was that?" Gregory exclaimed.
The King stopped moving entirely. He bowed his head solemnly, his heart and soul sinking through the floor to be buried in a shallow grave.
"The seal has been broken," he whispered. "The chaos is free."
Every one of the assembled knights let out a collective gasp. Despair swamped the very air. Gregory sank to his knees, his sword clattering onto the ground beside him as he openly wept for the fate of his city.
"There is no other option left now," the King said, quieter than any of his men had ever heard. "I must… keep it at bay…"
"Sire, you can't!" a knight shouted. "The chaos is too powerful. It will kill you!"
"YOU KNOW THERE IS NO OTHER WAY!" The King roared, the knight who had spoken shaking in fright. "It is only a temporary solution, I know. But we must buy them time… To evacuate the city…"
The King turned to Gregory, placing a reassuring hand upon his quivering shoulder. "Please, make sure Alsanna is safe. And Aava. And the others…"
"Ask someone else, sire," Gregory replied, wiping at his eyes. "Because I'm coming with you."
"What?" the King retorted. "No, you're not."
"Yes, he is sire," another knight chimed in. "And so am I."
"And I," yet another concurred.
The King looked about his men, chest swelling with pride and melancholy.
"I could not have asked to serve alongside a finer group of gentlemen," the King proclaimed, before drawing his sword and turning back towards the Cathedral, and the broken seal which lay within. "Come. Let us make merry with death."
Outside the city walls, the snowstorm was starting to subside. The last flakes of the winter night hit the ground and were swallowed by the white ocean that had gathered upon the ground.
The outskirts were silent.
And the snowman – the stoic guardian who had stood ever vigilant, ever loyal, ever still that night – remained at its post, as the first light of day which would bring about its inevitable demise began to break over the mountainside.
A/N: Well, that concludes my fourth annual Soulmas Christmas Special - the first to be played straight, I might add. Thank you to any and every one who might read this story. I hope your Christmas' are merry and bright.
As for me and my writings, keep an eye out. There may be big things in 2017.
~Souffle~