The Yule Lads Diarys Pt 10

December 21st- Gluggagægir

I wish my shot had missed that night.

I wish I’d never seen one of Lads in the flesh.

I wish I’d made my offering.

I wish I’d just left Iceland forever with my brother.

I wish I’d never fought these Yuletide horrors at all.

Above all, I wish I’d never taken Sausage Swiper hostage.

At the time, however, I was ecstatic. I sat in my room with the basket, grinning like Captain Silver as he stood over his treasure. He had stopped screaming after the first hour, and now he just hunkered in his trap and grumbled. The grumblings and infrequent yells were the only proof I had that he was still alive, and that was good. I wanted him breathing for the second part of my plan, the part where I gave the lads their “gift”.

The twenty first would mark something of a lull in the conflict. I should have taken advantage of it and got some sleep, but instead I watched the fat little fae as he growled and wiggled and tried to get free of the bear trap. I say bear trap, but it was really a fox trap. There were no bears in Iceland, and it was something we used to catch the little beasts when they came to steal food or became a nuisance. Their pelts are pretty warm and very beautiful, but we tried not to kill them unless we really had to.

It was almost too small for this little porker.

He was trapped at the shoulder, the teeth biting into him as he pouted and groaned. The bike lock I had used to secure him to the metal frame was the only thing keeping him there as he lay at the bottom. He had figured out pretty quickly that he couldn't open the trap with his bare hands. Something about the iron the trap was made of sapped his strength, and he had only really struggled for the first hour or so. Now he lay there, piggy little eyes glaring at me, as he tried to find some way to get loose from this new prison.

Whatever the iron did to him also stopped him from using magic, so that was an added bonus.

At least I wouldn't have to worry about waking up with a mouthful of dung or teeth made of beetles or something.

Davin stretched as he woke up, but he drew back in surprise when he noticed the Lad in the basket sitting at the foot of the bed. He had managed to sleep through all of it, the kid really could snore through a bomb, but now he was wide awake and terrified. He cried out as the lumpy thing hooted at him, though whether it was a plea for help or an insult, I didn’t know.

“What the...what is that?” he said, making the Lad wince from the loudness of his voice.

“This is Bjúgnakrækir; Sausage Swiper.” I said as though it were obvious.

“Okay, well why is he in our bedroom?”

“I captured him.”

“You did what?” Davin asked, seeming scared and unsure of this revelation.

“I captured him, and now I’ll trade him for a cessation of hostilities. They can't have thirteen Lads if one of them is stuck here with me, can they? They’ll want to bargain, and if they don't give me what I want, then they can't have what they want.”

“But,” Davin asked, his face scrunching up, “What's to stop them from just coming in and taking him?”

I looked unsure as I tried to think of an answer for that one. Somehow, this was something that had only now occurred to me. Of course they’d just come and take him. Why would they bargain with me? There would be nine of them tonight, more than enough to take two humans and a cat. Even if I stood them off here, how long could I hope to hold them off? Hell, one of them could just open the door!

Unless.

Unless I got prepared real quick.

“Davin, watch him.” I growled and grabbed my coat.

“Me?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, I just need a few things from the barn. I’ll be back in less than an hour. Don't let him out of that trap for any reason, do you understand?”

Davin nodded, though he didn't seem to like it. He threw a hug around my middle as I went to leave and I could feel wetness on the front of my shirt. He was scared, of that I was certain, but I hadn't stopped to think how strange this must be for him. He was used to living in the city where the most dangerous thing around was the pedophile on the floor below you or the stray dog who was hungry and looking for food. These things couldn't be picked up by the police or trapped by the dog catcher. These creatures were supernatural, and whether I had meant to or not, I had brought him into all this. I wrapped my arms around him, trying to remember that I had started out with the intention of making this his most memorable Christmas in Iceland.

I guess I had succeeded there, for better or worse.

“Don't worry, kid. This will all be over soon, and next year we’ll laugh about it.”

I pray now that I’m right.

When I poked my head in an hour later, Davin was still sitting on my bed, staring the little creature in the basket. Sausage Swiper was staring right back, trying to commit his face to memory, it seemed, and Grindle was sitting on Davines lap, his eyes intent on the little man in the trap. I looked at Davin and gave him a thumbs up. He returned it, and I closed the door behind myself. With the prisoner under watch, it was time to set my plans into motion.

I set up an array that would have put Kevin Mccallister himself to shame. I had swiped more traps from the shed, whole boxes of ten penny nails, wooden boards of carpet tacks that we had saved for some reason, barbed wire, and several horseshoes that I thought I might be able to rig up to fall on our would-be intruders. I set most of them up in the hall and the kitchen, around the fireplace too in case that's how they had gotten in.I strung the barbed wire up in the hallway, crisscrossing it low so I could step over it but the Lads would have a time getting around it. I finally just set some of the horseshoes up on doors, hoping they would fall on them, but I kept a few back for later. In a pinch, I could throw them I guessed. I put hay over the top of all of it, sprinkling nails and the nail strips amongst it so they would step on them and not realize it.

All the while, I felt like someone was watching me as I worked. I kept glancing around, trying to see if Olf or one of the farmhands had come to find me spreading hay in my house, but no one was ever around. It was a hard feeling to describe, like bugs crawling on me, but no matter how many times I looked, there was never anyone there. It made me work faster as I tried to get it all done so I could leave the front room for the quiet solace of the back of the house.

As the afternoon crept in like a thief, I grabbed what little food we had left and brought it to the bedroom so we would have something to eat while we held out.

“Who comes tonight?” Davin asked, munching on a granola bar as he leaned against his bed.

“Gluggagægir, the window peeper. They say he watches people through their windows, trying to find things he’d like to steal. At least we don't have to worry about him; there are no windows for him to look through back here.”

Davin nodded, but seemed unsure.

I finished up my meager dinner and sat to watch Sausage Snatcher. He was asleep, I thought, or was pretending, and it didn't take long before Davin was snoring too. I tried my best to resist the urge to sleep, but after so little sleep lately, my eyes were soon slipping shut. What if Sausage Snatcher was just pretending? What if he got away and joined the other lads? What if he...what if they...what if…

I was snoring a minute later, head pillowed against my arm, and I almost slept through their arrival.

I snapped awake when I heard the front door bang open and was on my feet in a heartbeat. My watch said it was ten o’clock, and I looked at Sausage Snatcher to find him awake and grinning at me. He garbled something in his flemmy language, but I didn't understand him. He started shouting, raising a yell from his prison, and I heard the sound of boots moving towards us. I pushed the basket lid back down, muffling him somewhat, but they had to know where he was.

I listened, expecting to hear sounds of anguish, sounds of surprise, but the Lads navigated my traps easily. They were in the hallway in short order and that was the first time I heard one of them come down on a nail or find a trap in the hay. That was when it hit me. How could I have been so stupid?

Gluggagægir had probably been watching me all afternoon. He couldn't see me putting traps in the back of the house, no windows back there, so the traps in the hallway were a complete surprise. They squealed and yelped as they found the nails, the fox traps, and the tack boards, and I was glad that something had slowed them down. I woke Davin, handing him a crowbar and telling him to get ready in case the door opened. Davin gripped the crowbar, looking nervous but ready. Grindle too seemed ready for anything, hunkering low as he prepared to pounce at the first thing through the door.

We stood for a count of thirty, before the door sprang open, the nails I had used to hold it shut flying back like shrapnel.

Pottaskefill was first, that armor juggernaut running in with his wooden armor clanking.

Gilajgaur was behind him and I launched my horseshoe at the bulbous head as he came screaming into the room. It struck him right between the eyes and I roared out my laughter as the armored Lad caught my ax on his hooked pole. It was hard to tell who was who after that. I saw Grindle jump on one of them, slashing and tearing as he rode him to the ground. I saw Davin swinging his crowbar as the little shadows moved in on him, but he drove them back and when I planted a foot on Pottaskefill and rolled him back into the hall, I saw many of them retreat after him.

We chased them out into the hall, the traps slowing them as they ran for the door.

The two of us came hooping and hollering into the living room, the nine of them in full slight. They were leaking tar and squealing in surprise, their attack thwarted, and as they ran out into the night, we gave chase. We stood in the doorway and watched them run, both of us winded, but knowing we had done well.

Our victory, however, came at a cost.

As the two of us returned, grinning and talking about tomorrow night's battle, we noticed the black shape laying on the floor of the bedroom.

Grindle was breathing quickly, but his flank was bloody, his left leg cut and dribbling onto the floor.

Davin went to him, crying but unsure how to comfort him. He’d been stabbed and kicked and he looked up at me with eyes that begged for help. Davin broke down, his tears spilled down his face, but I wasn’t about to let them take Grindle from us.

The Lads had taken too much already.

“Wrap him in a blanket,” I said, scooping up the basket as I turned for the door, “Sigrun will know what to do with him.”

December 22nd- Gáttaþefur

Olf came onto the porch to talk with me.

I was sitting with the basket on my lap, staring at the snow.

He took one look at the basket and shook his head, "I see you opted to provide an offering?"

"Not so much,” I mumbled

Olf opened the basket, but recoiled when he looked inside. Sausage Swipper leered up at him, his look predatory and pleading. As Olf sat the lid back on the basket, the Lad groaned pitifully. Olf looked at me in disbelief, clearly impressed but also understanding the gravity of what I’d done.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” he said, as if he couldn’t even believe it.

“Yeah, I chose to stand and fight, as a man does when his back is against the wall."

Olf rolled his eyes, "I swear, frændi, the longer you live here, the more you sound just like a Viking.

"I wish I could say the same," I said darkly.

Olf threw his hands up, "What can I tell you, frændi? I am sorry! If you want, I will stand with you tonight so that my mother's cat can take a night to rest."

"How is Grindle?" I asked, afraid of how he would answer.

"He's hurt pretty bad. Mother says what he needs is rest. She has offered to let him stay here until he feels better, but he won't be parted from your brother. I believe your brother is the first person I have seen him take to."

"Can he stay here too?" I asked, suddenly, "Only for a few nights. If their beef is with me, then I'd rather keep him out of it."

"Of course," Olf said, "but why don't you stay too?"

I looked down, wanting to accept but knowing I couldn’t afford to be weak right now.

"Your Da has been like a second father to me. I won't bring Fae down on his household."

Olf nodded, "If you're sure."

"I am."

I couldn't very well bring the Lad with me, not into Arnar's house.

That was why I was on the porch in the first place. I had let Davin carry the cat, his yowls weak and pitiful, and I had carried the backet with my prize inside. Sausage Snatcher had kicked and bit, shaking the basket with every thrash, but we had run like hell itself was after us to the Longhouse nonetheless. I could feel their eyes on me as we took to the night, Window Peeper probably keeping tabs on us, but they didn't try anything, and we made it to the Longhouse.

I had stayed on the porch as Sigrun worked on the brave beast. I didn't dare let the basket out of my sight, and I had kept a foot propped on it the whole time. He groaned and rolled, seeming to plead with me to just open the basket and turn him loose, but I cared little for his whining. Who cared if the little bastard was uncomfortable? He and his ilk had made my nights a living hell, that had almost killed Grindle. I was in no mood to show him any more hospitality than I already had.

Olf sat next to me, though he seemed uncomfortable at how close he was to the little beasty.

"Were you serious about what you said? Would you stand with me tonight when they come back?"

Olf snorted and smacked my shoulder, "I will. If my brother is set against Fae, then I suppose I am as well."

I smiled and threw a one armed hug around him, "You're a good friend, Olf."

He went back inside for a little, and I heard him and his father talking loudly. I felt selfish as I heard them get louder and louder. Olf was risking his place in the house for me. His father would not cross Fae, wouldn’t dare to set himself against them, but Olf was young and brash. He knew better, I was sure of it, but he would stand with me, regardless.

He came out with a duffle bag over one shoulder and a resolute look spread across his face.

“Let's go,” he half whispered, “before I lose my nerve.”

As we left, I heard the door push open and Davin stepped frantically onto the porch.

“Where are you going? Were you just going to leave me behind?”

I could see Arnar in the doorway, his face disapproving, but he seemed to have come to terms with my decision to fight.

“Stay here,” I told him, getting down on his level as I explained the situation to him, “stay with Grindle and keep him safe. He needs you to protect him now. I’ll be back when this is over, count on it.”

“But,” he started, turning to look at Arnar, clearly wanting to go, but not waiting to leave Grindle behind.

“Olf is coming with me,” I said, “he’s going to help me defend the house. You rest, keep Grindle safe, and I’ll come back when everything is done.”

He liked the idea of Olf coming with me, and that seemed to be enough to turn him around and send him back to the injured cat.

I locked eyes with Arnar, someone who seemed to know exactly what was in that basket under my arm, and he nodded before telling me to “take care of his son.”

“I will,” I answered, and then the two of us set off.

Olf raised an eyebrow when he saw the house, taking in the hay and the nails and the various other things scattered across the dwelling.

"Hardwoods not to your liking?"

"Careful where you step. I've got traps under there."

He nodded and picked his way through the house carefully. He had brought an old ax, something that I'd seen hanging on the mantle, and he smiled when I asked him about it. I knew the tales around that ax, something his ancestors had passed through the centuries, and the runes on it led me to believe his Da when he said it had once ridden on a longboat from Norway. Indiana Jones would have said it belonged in a museum for sure, but I let him tell it, just like he had when we were kids, as I waited for the Lads to show up. He gave it licks across the whetstone as he told the story, and the sound of that rasping blade almost put me to sleep.

"When this land was being settled, my several time's great grandfather, another Olf, came with his father and a small clan of men from Norway. That was a taking time for my people. We raided and burned but eventually settled in with a lord who kept us and fed us and set us on his enemies. This ax has been handed down through my line, and there are even stories that Olf's son, Gorle, fought creatures of Fae with it. When we finally settled here, this farm that's been in my family for so long, they hung up the ax for good. I'm the first man to take up this ax for battle in...probably ten generations. We only usually take it up to do upkeep on it or replace the handle."

"Let's hope part of that upkeep was sharpening the blade." I joked, but I had gazed at the ancient thing too many times to not know that it was very sharp.

"So," he said as he put the ax away, "do you want to tell me what in Friggs name made you think it was a good idea to trap one of the lads?”

"I had thought I could use him as a bargaining chip, but when they came in last night, I didn't even try. I'm tired, Olf, and I don't think they want to bargain. I feel like I need to sleep for about a week straight if this ever ends."

"Frændi, you need to cut him loose."

"No." I said, quickly, watching the basket fidget and shake, "If it comes down to it, I might need him. Besides, that's one less lad that can come after…"

I stopped suddenly, hearing the front door creak open like a funhouse attraction.

“How did you even manage this,” Olf asked, lifting the lid and peeking at the thing inside, “it’s quite impressive. Is that a fox trap you’ve…”

I glanced at the window as he spoke, realizing it had gotten dark while I wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t even full dark, the sun was still pink on the horizon, but it seemed that they hadn’t waited today. The second the day had passed, they decided to attack, and I couldn’t blame them.

If someone had my brother, I wouldn’t waste time either.

I shushed Olf and hunkered down, both of us taking up our weapons and preparing for battle. Olf snickered at my bat and hatchet, but I shook my head at him as I watched the door. The sound of feet were audible on the roof, the group now ten-strong, and they tromped loudly as they made their way to the front of the house. The feet stopped outside the open door as they grouped up, and I heard a new noise then, something like a hound as it sniffed at the base of the door. It got a snoot full of something, too, because it started chattering excitedly as another of the group garbled in that broken language of theirs.

"Gáttaþefur," Olf whispered, cocking an ear and listening to the little monster talk.

"Do you understand any of that?" I asked, hopefully.

"Some, it's a little like Icelandic, but it's older. I can pick out one word in five, and they don't sound good."

I thought about it for a minute, not sure how best to proceed.

"Do you think you could talk to them?"

Olf thought about it, "Maybe," he hedged, speaking to the door in a rough tongue I had never heard before.

The group on the other side of the door was silent as he spoke to them. They chattered amongst themselves when he finished, their words low and growly, and one of them spoke back to him in kind. The two spoke back and forth for a few minutes, Olf not seeming to be sure of his words while the Lad spoke with confidence. Their words were strange. I was used to Olf and his odd Icelandic language, five parts song and five parts growl, but this was different. This sounded like stones grinding together, like ice forming and melting in total silence, of reindeer running along the stepp, and so many other things. I listened in rapt silence, trying to pick up their patter, and when Olf looked back, he didn't seem happy.

"I understood about half of what he said, but the gist was that he wanted his brother back."

"What's he willing to trade in return?" I asked, keeping an elbow on the hooting basket.

"Nothing, he wants his brother back. That's all he really said. He will trade nothing, he will accept nothing, except his brother back ."

"Tell him I'll release his brother if they leave me alone. I'm tired of them attacking me, and I want them to leave me and my family alone."

Olf bit his lip, "I'll try."

He spoke to the Lads for a few minutes, their gravelly voices returning quickly whenever he finished, and he turned back, shaking his head, after a few minutes.

"He just keeps saying the same thing, over and over again. He wants his brother back, give him his brother, or they will come to get him."

I gripped my bat tightly, "Then they're going to have to come and get him."

They must have understood that one. They screamed in hellish glee as they charged, but Olf and I were ready. We kicked the door that separated the mudroom from the living room, and the squealed as they hit it. The door started rattling like someone was trying to open it. It would only open inward, though, and Olf and I both had our backs against it as they started trying to destroy it. They hacked at it brutally, their knives coming down on the wood like gunshots as the ten set about its destruction. The basket began to cackle loudly as the knives pierced the thick wood, sending shafts of light into the dim room. The little bastards were strong, and I realized I was fighting them at what must have been the height of their power, or near to it. This was Yuletide, their time, and I was trying to fight them when they were, arguably, at their strongest.

Maybe I should have tried to make amends, but it was a little late for such thoughts now.

“Hold on!” I yelled, leaving Olf to set his massive shoulder against the door as I ran to the back bedroom. I came out with the mattress I had tried to block the door with the other day, and Olf laughed before wincing in pain. One of the knives had slipped through, piecing his shoulder, and when he set his back against the mattress, the fabric stained a bright red. We both took a corner, leaning into it as the blades kept stabbing into the thick wooden frame. We were pushed mercilessly from the other side, and for creatures the size of children, they were very strong. I could hear the cloth tearing and the springs groaning under the assault, but we held against them. The onslaught seemed to go on forever, the adrenaline coursing as the two of us held fast. Soldiers often say that time becomes funny in battle, and I never understood it until this time spent at the mercy of the Lads. Sometimes minutes felt like hours, other times a whole night would go by in the blink of an eye.

It must have been hours, had to be, because I remember well when the pounding stopped.

We were slumped, knees against the hardwood, the Lad's knives still crashing against our makeshift barricade. I could see the light through the fabric on top, the back now little more than tattered rags and damaged wood, and I could hear their knives smacking at the springs as they tried to find a way through the barrier of iron corkscrews. Olf was winded, his strength deteriorating as the hours went on, and I could feel my own shirt sticking to me despite the cold weather billowing outside. We couldn't last much longer, there was no way we could hold out all night, and we knew it.

Then, my digital watch chimed midnight, and the thumping stopped.

I don't mean it tapered off.

I don't mean it slowed to a halt.

I mean, it just stopped.

Olf and I looked at each other with suspicion, not sure what game they were playing.

I lifted a corner of the mattress and peeked out into the mudroom, expecting to have my head taken off.

Instead, all I saw was an empty dooryard and the hanging remains of my front door.

They had just left for no conceivable reason, and I didn't like the look of this.