The Yule Lads Diary- Pt 2- December 13th- Giljagaur

What a night.

I got some sleep after last night's excitement, but Davin apparently got up early to help Olf with some minor chores. I awoke at four to the sound of snowballs hitting my livingroom window and looked out to see Davin and Olf laughing as they roused me from sleep. Davin looked a little sorry when I came out, dressed in my heavy coat and snow pants, but Olf looked unrepentant as he grinned through his neat red beard.

"Couldn't let you sleep all day, frændi," he said, using the Icelandic word for cousin.

"I suppose not. I'll have to remember that while you're asleep tonight and I'm up with the sheep again. Perhaps you can join me in the sheep shed after I pelt your window with snow."

He laughed hugely and socked me in the arm, "Go ahead and try. You'd have an easier time waking a hibernating bear."

He invited me to dinner, and we walked towards his father's house with the smell of a hot meal in the wind.

As we walked, Olf let Davin get a little ahead of us and spoke his mind, "Da says you had an encounter with Stekkjarstaur last night.

I didn't look at him as we walked, not wanting him to see how unsettled I was, "Did he now?"

"He did. Said he stole your lamb. If you're looking for a house pet, I'm sure we could get you another one." he joked, clapping me on the back.

I shook my head, "Have you ever seen one, Olf?"

Olf snorted, “A lamb? There usually everywhere, as you know.”

I didn’t return his mirth, “You know what I mean.”

Olf shook his head, and I could see him look away uncomfortably, "Da says they ain't like the stories. We make them look like dvergur, but that isn't how they are. He says you're lucky to be alive. They don't usually take kindly to people not of the land."

I made a rude noise and pushed him suddenly into the snowdrift, "Then you're lucky you've never seen one. They'd probably mistake you for a female, and you'd have to explain to your Da why you married a troll."

He came up spitting snow but grinning, and I raced him to the house as he tried his best to dump snow down my jacket.

That night, however, I wished I hadn't joked about the Yule Lads.

I was back in the sheep barn again. Davin was set to chore the next morning with Olf, so I was on my own. I was surprised how quickly Davin had taken to Olf, but I wasn't disappointed either. If Davin was my brother by blood, then Olf was my brother by choice. The two of us had become close over the years, and I was glad that he was teaching Davin the ropes. I would have liked to have Davin tonight, though, so he could help me keep watch against the red-hatted little boogin. I knew that the Lads came back every night for thirteen nights, so I knew that Stekkjarstaur might be back for another drink of milk or even another lamb.

I sat with Gert, her lambs thriving and trying their shaky legs under her watchful eye.I kept a quiet eye on them. The night pressed on, the wind a little quieter, and it turned out to be a pretty peaceful evening. I could feel my eyes trying to slide shut as the soft breathing of the sheep echoed through the shed. No mysterious red hats appeared, no doors were cut through the metal, and as my watch beeped four am, I got up and stretched my legs a little. I stepped outside, hoping the wind would wake me up, and pulled my coat up as it took me in the face. The moon was edging around, and dawn would be here soon. When I stepped out of the shed, I was thinking of nothing so much as snuggling under my blankets and falling asleep.

But that was before I saw the minuscule figure sneaking across the snow into the cowbarn.

Sheep may be relatively plentiful around the Icelandic countryside, but cows were definitely a luxury that not everyone could afford. Arnar owned two cows, and I knew for a fact that he had bought them at a high personal cost. He liked the taste of sheep's milk alright, but nothing beat a tall glass of cow's milk in the morning, he would often say. He sold the excess in town for a premium and fed them a special grain to make the sweat creams he loved.

The thought of Stekkjarstaur making off with one of Arnar's prized cows was unthinkable.

I closed up the shed, making my way slowly towards the cow barn. I wanted to surprise him, if I could, and not catch that sharp little knife in my leg if I couldn't. The snow crunched softly under my feet, and I tried to quiet my steps, aware that any sound could thwart me. The door was ajar when I made my way to the cow barn, and I could hear a soft, angry mooing as I went in. The two cows, Rjóma and Mjólk, were standing in their stalls, but Rjóma was making quite a stir as something small and hairy moved beneath its udders. It was milking the cow, but its hands were moving like the heddles of a loom, going up and down much too fast. The cow was stamping and huffing, but the creature seemed to take no notice of it as it went about filling the bucket. As it finished, it moved the bucket down a little and slid that cruel little knife out as it cut the cow on the flank. The cow surged forward, bawling loudly, but not before a freshet of blood fell into the bucket, turning the milk a frothy pink.

For some reason, my mind went to the strawberry milk mix I had used as kids, and my gorge threatened to rise and cover the straw.

His eyes locked on me as he picked up the full bucket, slurping at the foam on top as it headed for the door.

It grinned through its crooked teeth and I saw that it was not the same one as yesterday.

This one must have been Giljagaur.

He wore a red pair of overalls that barely contained his gut, a similar knife stuck through his belt as it bulged around his middle. His spindly arms seemed to hold the bucket with ease, his other hand sliding the blade over his tongue as he cleaned the cow's blood from it. A similar red hat sat on his head, and his beard was more akin to the foam that he slurped from the bucket.

His eyes seemed to dare me to do something, and when the cow bucked in its stall, I looked away just a little too long.

He was gone when I looked back, bucket and all.

Arnar arrived at dawn as I finished patching up Rjóma. The cut hadn't been too bad. It had been long and jagged but not too deep. I could see old scars that I had never really thought too much about but now made a lot more sense. Giljagaur had done this before, many times, and knew just how deep to cut, so he didn't miss his treat. He couldn't come back for more if he killed the cow, after all.

What a sick little game it had here.

"Have you checked the sheep shed yet?" Arnar asked, guessing what I would find when I did.

There was a hole in the shed, not much bigger than the one last night. I counted them and found we were missing one. It had been a small ram, barely out of his summer coat, and Olf and Davin found what was left of him later that day by the fence line. The two had eaten well, it would seem, and Olf found a bucket not far from the ram.

"There was frozen milk in it, Da. Frozen...and red."

Arnar nodded, "Won't be the first such sacrifice."

He gave me the night off, saying Dayvos would take the watch tonight and tomorrow night.

His kindness, however, did not change the itinerary of the Lads in the least bit.