ike all men he had a beginning. His began on a dark night, a babe wrapped in red linens drifting down an icy lake. Jagged rocks like teeth protruded from the pitch-black water. By the river’s edge stood two figures only visible by their lantern light. They were drawn to the sounds of the crying child. They pulled the small raft ashore and found a babe with eyes so clear blue they almost appeared white. He had a tuft of pale blond hair and skin of ashen gray. The two Kringle brothers Uwe and Günter quickly took him back to their family home.

“What has happened, my sons?” Mother Kringle asked when they came rushing in.

“We found a child,” said Uwe.

“By the river's edge,” said Günter.

They unwrapped the blanket, revealing the child to Mother Kringle. The two other brothers, Karl and Jürgen, huddled around.

“I have never seen one like him. Those eyes, that skin,” Mother Kringle said in wonder.

“What should we do with him?” asked Uwe, holding the child.

“Has he nothing? No proof of clan or family name?” asked Karl.

“Only the cradle he came in. It’s quite strange—the metal is like silver, but stronger and lighter.”

“Covered in a language I have never seen,” said Karl.

“And a symbol akin to the Aesir,” Günter added.

“Of the gods?” asked Mother Kringle.

“We think so,” Uwe said.

“Shall we keep him?” asked Jürgen.

“Yes,” said Mother Kringle. “We shall raise him as a Kringle. He shall be known from this day as Kristoff.”

“Kristoff, Kristoff Kringle!” they shouted excitedly in unison.

ristoff grew with his family, being loved and taught in their ways. The Kringles were tinkers, steelworkers, and smiths, making most of the goods for the surrounding towns. His brothers worked together, teaching him all they could. From the eldest, Jürgen, he learned combat. From the second, Karl, he learned steelwork. From the third, Günter, hunting, and from Uwe carpentry. From his mother he learned the most important of all—love, kindness, and joy. 

Kristoff took to everything quickly, soon outgrowing his brothers in height and strength. He was loved by all who came to know him and showed kindness even to the smallest of creatures.

On his sixteenth birthday, his brothers surprised him with an ax. The handle was crafted from the wood of his raft, and the blade forged from the cradle he was found in. Wrapped around the handle was red linen.

“This ax symbolizes you, Kristoff,” Jürgen said. “Where you came from, and where you will go. Wield it and remember that you are a Kringle. Always our brother.”

By Kristoff’s twentieth birthday the Kringles had experienced a winter unrelenting, lasting nearly seven seasons. They had no cattle left in their stalls, and people had stopped buying their crafts.

This weighed on Kristoff.

“Mother, it has been almost two years time since we have had the warm breeze and seen the birds. The waters have stayed frozen. Not many animals are left.”

“I know the hardship we are facing. What is it that you wish to do, my son?” Already she dreaded what would be spoken.

“To find the source that has caused this misfortune.”

Mother Kringle turned away, looking out the window. Kristoff put a hand on her small shoulders.

“I know you feel it too,” said Kristoff. “Something, a dark magic, is gripping this land. No one will last another year if it continues.”

“From the moment we first found you,” said his mother, “I knew that there was something special about you. You would never just belong to me, but to the whole world.”

She kept a small chest by the hearth. From it she took out the Kringle crest. It was strung on twine with large, dark red beads. Kristoff leaned as his mother put it around his neck, tears in her eyes.

“This symbol was worn by our family’s warriors. The ones who gave us this land. Wear it and let those that see it know your name.”

Kristoff embraced her. “I have known such kindness and love from you.”

“You will do great things, Kristoff.”

he next morning, with his family's blessing, Kristoff, in red fur cloak and pants made by his mother for the journey, went his way. For many a night and day he traveled. Never once did he become lost, for he knew these woods and these woods knew him. Nature itself seemed to smile on his quest, as if it knew that he sought to heal it. His fortunes went awry when a mighty blizzard blew in from Jotunheim, forcing him to camp for the night. He fought to keep the fire alive for the game he was about to cook.

The wind carried the scent of his meal throughout the forest, rousing the hungry attention of wolves. The winter had taken most, if not all, of their food.

Kristoff heard a rustling from nearby. He took hold of his ax, at the ready. Two eyes glowed with wicked green out at him from the darkness. A mighty wolf came from the shadows, five or six times the normal size of that kind of beast. Kristoff knew from hunting with Günter that all wolves travel in packs. That meant he was already surrounded.

The wind died, as if waiting for man or wolf to make the first move. Their eyes locked. The wolf coiled. Kristoff with great speed lunged forward, kicking up snow in his wake. The wolf charged. They collided like a bolt of lightning, smashing the earth, and Kristoff lost hold of his ax.

The trees bent back from the power of the collision. With a crack to its jaw, the wolf wrapped its front legs around Kristoff’s torso, biting into his shoulder. Kristoff grabbed the beast by the scruff, freeing himself from its grasp and gave it another whack to the jaw. The wolf moved away. Kristoff held his shoulder and looked around for his ax. It had fallen by a tree ten paces away. He looked at the wolf.

Kristoff had barely taken the ax in hand when he spun round on his heel to meet the wolf lunging at him.

Before he could raise the ax, the beast was again on him, pinning him against a tree. He could hear other wolves waiting in anticipation for the kill.

But Kristoff was not ready to see the gates of Valhalla. With his powerful forehead he butted the beast, dazing it. He used his leg to push the wolf, and it rose to its back legs, a full nine feet tall. Kristoff squatted, and with all the force he could muster, brought the ax blade up across its chest. Tufts of fur and streams of blood soiled the white snow. The great demon wolf fell back and lay helpless at his feet.

The other wolves cried out in defeat. 

Kristoff’s kindly eyes betrayed him as he raised his ax to take a life. He looked into the face of the wounded beast. A warmth that had not been felt by the forest in years carried itself around Kristoff. He turned, knowing someone else had come. 

On top of a large stone stood a creature whose silhouette bore likeness to a reindeer, but whose antlers and size told Kristoff the creature was something more. This beast walked with grace, gliding over the snow but never unsettling it. Though he moved slowly, he arrived quickly. The creature walked past him, kneeling over the fallen wolf. The nose of the creature seemed to be made of crystal, and it glowed red as he placed it on the head of the wounded wolf.

Kristoff put his weapon down, knowing this noble thing meant no harm. The red light died down, the creature stepped back, and turned to him.

The wolf began to cough, and from his throat, a dark stone was retched out. When it touched the snow it burned up, turning to embers. Kristoff watched as the wolf demon shrank in size. His hair was pulled back into his body. What lay before him was no beast but a man. The slash across his chest remained.

Kristoff looked upon the man-wolf and creatures. He knew that their hearts were not evil, but fearful. Kristoff took out his own loaf of bread and gave it to the wolf pack.

***

ar away in the large room was a throne, smooth and rounded and made of dark stone. At the top, for ornament, was a jagged stalactite. The floor was covered in sacred and ceremonial symbols, with spiraling rings overlapping and spreading out like veins. Leaning back lazily on the throne was a being of human-like shape. His height was great, but his skin was a greenish gray and his heavy-set brows drooped over sunken eyes, and root-like growths hung from his face like a beard. Spilling over the dais were his once-lavish robes, now very worn. His eyes opened, as if awakened by a noise. Next to him was a short, lean man whose pale skin and page’s haircut spoke to what a weak creature he was.

“The enchantment of the man-wolf...has been broken,” said the apprentice, his voice frail.

“Rudolph,” the warlock said with a sigh. “And something else helped.”

Concern spread over the apprentice’s face.

“How interesting,” the warlock said, and closed his eyes again.

***

he man-wolf woke with a jolt. Kristoff had laid him next to the fire. He and the reindeer creature were sitting together as he fed the animals. The creatures of the forest had gathered around, looking at the mighty reindeer and Kristoff.

“Who are you, human?” the man-wolf asked. The magic stone had made his throat hoarse.

“Kristoff. Who are you?” he asked.

“Claus, protector of this mountain.”

Kristoff rose to his feet and bowed. “An honor to meet you, Claus. You fight well.”

The look on his face told him Claus did not remember the fight. Claus looked at the reindeer creature next to Kristoff.

“Rudolph? What are you doing here?”

Their eyes locked, and they spoke in words unheard by Kristoff, an ancient language known only to beings like them.

“Rudolph. A handsome name for a handsome creature.” Kristoff said it with a smile that bore his large white teeth.

“He is no mere creature” Claus said. “And do not try to understand him, mortal. He is the spirit of these mountains, protecting all that dwell on and under its face.”

“I have never met a spirit,” said Kristoff. “His power seems great, yet good.”

Kristoff put his hands around his belt, taking a hearty stance. “Perhaps now you might shed some light on why you were trying to kill me, Claus.”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was because humans annoy me?” said Claus and then he took a deep breath. “These last two years a dark magic fell over these lands, and many creatures under its possession. I searched for the source, only to be possessed myself. Now Rudolph has released me.”

“I, too, am in search of this evil,” said Kristoff. “My people have suffered for some time.” Kristoff pointed homeward across the mountain.

“Are you saying you’re a Kringle? Aren’t you a little...big?”

“I was taken in by them as a child. But I am as Kringle as any one of them.”

Claus looked to his fellow wolves. They affirmed Kristoff’s kindness, and told how he’d fed them and the other woodland creatures.

“Your heart is pure, Kristoff, as pure as the snow that covers everything around us, even if you are a mongrel. Rudolph says you must go over that mountain to the north. A witch lives there. She torments her people, though she herself is also enslaved.”

“By whom?”

“That I do not know.”

“Well, it is a great distance. I need to travel fast.”

Rudolph gave a magical call, at which point eight reindeer and a sleigh were conjured into their midst. Kristoff went off, leaving Claus and Rudolph behind to take care of the woodland creatures.

The journey over the mountain would have taken a week, but with the reindeer it took two days. The weather grew fiercer as he neared his destination, reassuring Kristoff they were going in the right direction.

hey arrived upon a great mountainside, and Kristoff surveyed the lay of the land. Below was the witch’s great fortress, constructed of brass and iron. Its inhabitants were small people, not unlike the Kringles. On foot he approached the towering, decrepit gates of the once beautiful fortress.

“Something foul dances on the air here,” Kristoff said, watching around him.

A cloaked figure at the open gate walked toward him. Kristoff put his hand on his ax.

“Who goes?” the figure asked in a raspy voice.

“I wish to speak to the enchantress,” Kristoff said, moving toward the stranger. The wind picked up, revealing the horrible face of the figure. Kristoff saw its eyes and knew it was pure evil.

“What do you wish to say?” asked the evil figure.

“That her reign of terror is over,” said Kristoff bravely. 

With his last word he lifted his ax and launched it at the monster’s head. Its body crumbled into dust but its cloak remained. Suddenly he saw the gate beginning to close. He rushed and leapt through, barely making it before it slammed shut.

Sorrows and evils worse still met him inside—elves in chains mining in holes, draugr slave drivers whipping and beating them as they struggled under the weight of their chains.

“Just like the stone Claus had swallowed...it smells like coal. Must be used to enchant,” observed Kristoff to himself.

The tower was protected by many guards. Kristoff sprinted, unnoticed. The moment he stepped into the iron tower he knew that witch was already aware of his presence. As he ascended the spiraling stairs he held his ax tight. At the top was a room filled with snow falling through the ceiling—magical snow it must have been, for the room was enclosed. By the window stood the graceful figure of the witch, wearing a mask of ice.

“You’ve come to end me?” she asked. “My Draugr will kill you if you try to leave. You don’t have a chance.”

“My name is Kristoff Kringle. It is you who doesn't have a chance,” said Kristoff.

The witch leaped into the air, avoiding the ax he’d just thrown. The blade burrowed into the stone wall beyond her. Kristoff grabbed her ankle and in one motion threw her to the ground. The magical snow flew into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. 

Kristoff felt her presence behind him. He spun around. Before his next strike could land, she sent him flying backward. Baring her claws, she struck at him like a wild animal. He rolled toward the wall, ax in hand, avoiding her claws.

Kristoff reached and yanked at his weapon, and took a chunk of wall with it. The witch stabbed her clawed fingers into his side and an otherworldly cold spread through his body. Kristoff took hold of her poisonous hand, then struck yet again at her mask. When the blade met the ice this time, a crack appeared and spread. The witch fell to her knees. As she fell, the snow from the ceiling stopped. Kristoff caught her in mid-fall and held her.

The elves stopped their labors and rushed toward him. The slave-driving draugr had fallen to dust moments ago, just as the witch’s ice mask had cracked. 

Kristoff placed the unconscious witch on the ground.

“Majesty!” one elf cried.

“Dead,” said another elf.

“My lady!” exclaimed another.

“No. She only rests,” said one as he took and held her head.

“What befell her that made her this way?” Kristoff asked.

“A curse...”

“...a terrible curse.”

“One of the warlocks...”

“...the warlock of the town.”

“His magic possessed her.”

“Tricked her.”

“How do we break it?” Kristoff asked.

“Mistletoe.”

“...a kiss.”

“...of true kindness and love.”

“Where do we find mistletoe?” Kristoff asked.

“From the tree,” an elf said.

“Quickly,” said another.

An elf retrieved mistletoe and gave it toKristoff.

“Now you must kiss her,” said the first elf.

“Can’t it be one of you?” Kristoff asked.

“Not capable of that kind of love,” said one of the elves.

“Must be you,” said another.

Kristoff knelt down. Her mask was glass-like in its appearance. A crack ran across it, revealing a small part of her petrified face. Kristoff’s long hair draped over his face as he leaned close to the cool lips of the icy mask. Pressing his lips softly against them but for a moment, the mask began to slowly melt. The elves gasped at the sight of their queen. Her face had been drained of its health and beauty. The melted water seeped into her skin. She rasped harshly, then retched up a stone, just as Claus the man-wolf had. Embers flew up into the sky, from the burning coal-stone. Color spread through her face as its life returned. Her eyes fluttered open, showing pale blue eyes, not unlike Kristoff’s.

“Majesty!” cried the elves in joy.

She lifted herself weakly as they crowded around her.

“Little ones,” she said lovingly, taking hold of one elf’s face. “What has happened?” she asked.

“A dark magic,” said one elf.

“The warlock,” said another.

“He cursed you too,” said the first elf. “But he has saved you.”

“Saved us,” added one.

The witch got up from the ground and looked around her. She turned to Kristoff with a kind smile and caring eyes.

“Were you the one who broke my enchantment?”

“Yes, for goodness’ sake,” Kristoff said. “But where did this warlock come from?”

“He is born of dead magic. His spells are powerful, some so old the words are unknown even to me. He came saying he wished to tell me the troubles of his people. It was a trap. Once he was inside my tower he attacked me. I fought him as long as I could, but his power was greater. That is the last thing I remember. Except when you hit me with your ax,” she said, smiling at Kristoff.

“He used us elves to mine the minerals in these hills,” said an elf.

“Which he needs for his magic,” added another.

“Alright, now we go to meet the warlock,” Kristoff said. “Point me the way, my lady.”

“Call me Gertrud. And you will not go alone.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but your elves aren’t made for battle.”

“But I am. I wish to see this warlock buried. If we are to do battle with a warlock, you require a weapon worthy of demon-slaying.”

Kristoff took the ax from the sling of his belt.

“I think this has served me well so far,” he said in a playful boast. But when he looked back at his hand it was empty. Now his weapon was in the witch’s hand, who was suddenly behind him.

“This is the tool of a woodsman,” said Gertrud.

She took her long nail and etched symbols into the blade, then brought it close and let out a deep exhale. Her breath was like a mighty gust of wind. As it spread over the blade the symbols began to glow.

“Now this is a weapon worthy of a warrior. All you have to do is guide it with your heart and it’ll never do you wrong.”

The ax flew from her hand, leaving behind a trail of dazzling blue light, was caught perfectly by Kristoff. The magic was strong and pulsed in his grasp.

“It will always come back to you,” she Gertrud.

“Now we ride,” Kristoff said, jumping into the sleigh. Gertrud smiled and followed.

The elves watched in wonder as Kristoff rode the sleigh into the gorge. Never had they seen creatures such as reindeer.

***

Back in the throne room, the apprentice paced nervously. 

“What could this be, sire?” he asked fearfully, caught on every word.

“A stranger has come upon us.” 

The warlock’s voice was like a chilling wind. 

“He seeks to challenge our reign. With him is the witch whom I imprisoned, but he has broken her enchantment as well. Prepare thyself, apprentice.”

“Yes, great one,” slobbered the apprentice.

***

The forest which Gertrud led Kristoff through was worse than anything they had yet seen. Animals were frozen in place. Snow and ice obscured everything.

“I thought once I broke the enchantment the spell would break,” said Kristoff. His heart was weary from the darkness of the world.

“This spell is being sustained by something much more powerful then my magic,” said Gertrud. “A spell this powerful requires an ingredient of utmost malevolence.”

Gertrud was solemn.

“What?” asked Kristoff with deep concern. “What is it?”

Gertrud drew a deep breath. “Children. He uses souls of innocence. They started going missing from the villages. Then the warlock seized control of the villages and took them outright. The villagers could not stand against him. Now his magic has taken over the whole of this mountain.”

“How could you not tell me this before?” said Kristoff.

“The world is bitter,” said Gertrud. “And some answers bring only sorrow.”

Kristoff let the silence between them grow as they continued. Cries of despair could be heard from outside the village. A tear almost shed from Kristoff’s eye in the blistering cold. Gertrud put a hand on his shoulder.

“Collect yourself, Kringle. We’ve come to save them, so we must be strong.” 

“What if we fail?”

She moved her hand to his face. “You can not fail them, because.....your heart is true.”

Snowflakes fell heavy from the black sky as they barreled towards the village, bursting through its gates.

“To the center of town,” Gertrud instructed. They struck down draugr as they dashed through the snow. The villagers watched as the first sign of hope came riding in.

Kristoff leapt from the sleigh, landing in the midst of more draugr. He lashed his way through with his ax, taking draugr arms, legs, and heads at every strike. The runes on the blade glowed as the ax cut left and boomeranged around him, ripping through draugr torsos. They collapsed into dust.

Kristoff and Gertrud stood before the great building in the center of town.

“This is where the power emanates from,” she said.

“There are no doors or windows, only that chimney far above,” said Kristoff.

“You intend to go through the chimney?” asked Gertrud.

Kristoff gave her a playful grin.

***

raugr patrolled the halls. The chimney was at the far end. Bits of soot sprinkled down. The sound from the hearth made one draugr take a closer look. It stuck its head in, looking up the chimney. Two boots gave the draugr a powerful crush on his skull. Kristoff dashed forward, grabbed one's bony throat. With his free arm, he elbowed another. He threw the Draugr at one running towards him. An icy spear flew past Kristoff’s head, straight into the chest of the last Draugr. Gertrud ran by, taking the spear from its chest, and Kristoff followed.

Sounds of battle raged and echoed from outside the great door of the throne room.

The doors burst open with a powerful blast of magic. Kristoff charged in, followed by Gertrud. The warlock stared from his jagged throne, and Kristoff met his gaze.

“Warlock,” Kristoff cried, “I bring a gift for you—from the fallen children who suffered at your twisted hand.”

“I know for what thou has come. And of thine ignorance.”

“Of what am I ignorant? I know the atrocities you have committed ”

“Of thy true nature.”

“What game are you playing at?” asked Kristoff.

“Thou comest from the realm of bitter cold—a child of Jotunheim and Asgard.”

“I know not of what you speak,” said Kristoff, righteous rage in his voice. “But your wicked blood will join that which stains this house.”

The warlock’s apprentice raised his hand, ready to strike. With a crack of her magic, Gertrud flung him against the wall. The warlock leapt from his throne and swung wildly at Kristoff with his staff. Kristoff deflected, each time striking at the warlock’s head with the butt of his ax.

The warlock stumbled, black blood pouring down his wretched face. He steadied himself, and with a mighty sweep of his staff, knocked Kristoff off his feet. The warlock raised his staff, ready to bring it down, but Kristoff rolled and grabbed the staff, ripping it from the warlock’s grip. With all Kristoff’s strength he shattered it into millions of shards.

“No!” cried out the apprentice, face filled with terror. He conjured a dark smoke in his hands and sent it flying at Gertrud.

Gertrud inhaled deeply and let out a frosty breath. It encompassed the smoke, freezing it and the apprentice’s hands. 

She then formed an ice spear and threw it straight into the apprentice's heart.

“Disappointing,” the warlock said, with a look of disgust at his fallen apprentice.

“You’ll be joining him soon,” said Kristoff, and sent his ax flying, catching and throwing it six times at the warlock, running forward with every strike. When he reached him, Kristoff took hold of the root-like hair, and with a downward lash, lopped off his head. The body fell to the floor. Kristoff raised the severed head to eye level. 

The head spoke mockingly as its eyes rolled into the back. “This changes nothing. Thou still art and always shall be a bastard, eternally at war with yourself. This is thy fate, Kristoff Kringle.”

“We must bury the head,” said Gertrud, placing a hand on Kristoff’s shoulder. “His magic keeps him alive even separated from his body.”

Kristoff tossed the head into the ground and they covered it over. Gertrud whispered to the earth. When she stepped back a beautiful pine tree grew rapidly in its place. The villagers gathered, in disbelief at the gift given to them by this stranger in red.

“This is a magical seal,” Gertrud told the townspeople. “As long as you keep this tree alive, the sorcerer will stay imprisoned.”

“Who is it that has saved us and our children?” asked a man holding his son.

“You did,” said Kristoff. “By having good will towards men. Keep the hope and the faith. In all things be merry.”

The villagers with their children gathered around the tree, putting offerings of food, money, effigies, and candles. Kristoff and Gertrud watched. In the distance they saw a bright light from the sky—Rudolph, with his nose so bright, walking down from the air like it was made of steps. Claus was beside him in his human form.

“Quite a fight,” said Claus. “Did I hear you went down a chimney?”

“An effective way of going in undetected,” said Kristoff.

“I wouldn’t make a habit of it. Your clothes are filthy,” said Claus. “Rudolph was right about you.”

“A shame you two missed the battle,” Kristoff said with a chuckle.

“Rudolph is one of peace,” said Claus. “I have never seen him do battle. But do not think him weak.”

“The strongest one is the one who knows kindness is the most powerful weapon,” said Kristoff.

“Your wisdom and purity never cease to amaze me,” said Claus.

They and the villagers stood around the newly sprouted pine tree. A great feeling of peace encompassed the land.

***

Kristoff stood atop the edge of a mountain summit. A heavy sorrow was on him. Could he really be a son of Jotunheim? A sworn enemy of the gods?

Gertrud came up beside him.

“The day is bright, and yet I sense sadness in you. What is it that keeps you from joy?”

“I am half monster,” Kristoff said with shame.

“Half god.”

“Bastard god. Evil and ice run through me. How can I ever face my family again?”

“Because you’re a Kringle, as much a Kringle as the rest of them,” Claus said strolling up to them. “That’s what you told me and made me believe.”

“It matters not who you came from, but who loves you,” Gertrud said with tenderness in her eyes. “It was the warmth of your heart that saved this land. I have not met another so selfless and kind,” she said, taking his hand. “You are good, Kristoff Kringle.”

“I am glad you’re not all human, it makes me like you more,” Claus said.

Joy swelled inside Kristoff at their encouragement. He embraced them both.

“I must go back to the forest,” said Claus. “I hope we do not cross paths again.” He changed into wolf form and ran down the mountain.

“Where will you go now?” Gertrud asked.

“South, to the old lands. But first, to see my family.”

“Then on this journey, I shall go with you. My people and I owe you a great debt. As payment, we wish to follow you.”

Kristoff jumped into the sleigh and held out a hand to Gertrud. She readily took it and sat beside him. He grabbed the reins and shouted.

“Off Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen, off Comet, off Cupid, off Donner, And Blitzen!”