The Yule Lads Diarys Pt 11

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.