More in this series: Prologue, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15, Ch. 16, Ch. 17, Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20, Ch. 21, Ch.22, Ch. 23
Back in the capital Nicholas had been busy.
He had made many friends and was organizing the city.
He worked with old Tomten, the P.E.G. president.
From the ranks of the Guild a group quickly went
To recruit workers from factories and shops,
From deep in the bubbles to the snow up top.
Two elves are worth mentioning here.
They used a system that still works to this year.
Kringle and Befana worked like magic
Writing lists and charts with names and habits,
Persuading with words, small gifts, and thoughtful trinkets.
They recruited with love, urgent yet compassionate.
“Keep the list safe. Always!”
The two elves would say.
“Check the list.
Check it twice.
Who needs to enlist?
Who has signed?”
Kringle scanned the names from his shift.
Befana connected with elves who had been missed.
The time was close,
Time to make a show.
They’d send a message to the goblins
To demonstrate the mass power long forgotten.
They’d pave the way with Nicholas and Tomten.
When the time came
The lists were worth the pain.
The elves massed
Marching with signs.
They formed an enormous picket line.
No one could pass.
They blocked factories and shops
Bringing commerce and trade to a stop.
For weeks they paraded
As the trolls berated.
The line held firm and fast.
The goblins schemed
Melting the streets
To soak and freeze the poor elves’ feet.
The goblins planned
To withhold and withstand,
Hiding in their homes with their hoards.
But as the months drew on
The elves stood strong
Sharing when they should have starved.
The owners and the leaders
Came together in fear
That they would lose their wealth and power.
They needed to control
The masses below
To teach them their place in the system.
So they marshaled the trolls,
And the yetis were told
Elf flesh was no longer off limits.
Elf eyes went wide.
Many shuttered inside,
But they sat down or took defiant stances.
The yetis approached.
The toll ranks encroached.
The elves recalled their training.
They’d stand in peace
As they were beat
By bats, fists or torches.
The tension thickened
As the opposition quickened
Nearing the protesting elves.
Then, all of a sudden
Many yetis turned on a button
To face their kind and the trolls.
The elves gave a great yell
As the yetis began to rebel
Joining the mass of elves.
The trolls hesitated
As the yetis created
Confusion within the goblins’ ranks.
But trolls broke free
To batter and beat
Many elves with merciless delight.
Elves scattered and ran.
Yetis thrashed those who took a stand,
And others wrestled their kind to the ground.
The snow turned red
Staining clothes and hands
While the goblins awaited the broken end.
As the brutality closed
Eight red hats sat in repose
Unyielding, unmoving and still.
Arm in arm, alive or dead unclear.
The goblins looked on at the scene in fear
Not knowing if their onslaught had won.
In the night through the carnage a small chorus sung.
The North Star song of hope far across the ice rung,
“North Star high
Be our guide.
“Give us light
In the dark
As you fly
Shining star.
“North Star high
North Star high
“Sharing, giving,
Ever living,
“Be our guide
In giving ways.
Help us shine
And give away.
“North Star high
In the night,
“We give and take
All that we make.
We share our lives
So all may thrive
“Under the sky
Of North Star light.
“North Star high
Be our guide.”
Then a song of lament
Went up in ascent
As hope embraced pain.
It was pure sound.
No words could be found.
Emotions fell like rain.
Some voices sung softly,
Deep and melancholy
While others loudly rang.
A heterophonic masterpiece
Improvised in sheer grief
From the collective hearts who remained.
The melodies flowed one on top of the other
Creating complex dynamics of musical wonder,
The North Star song as the original base.
Weeping and wailing, screaming in anguish
For the loved ones lost, destroyed, vanquished.
The sound is all too familiar but never the same.
The elves gathered round the eight.
Yetis and herders
Were mingled, interspersed
In a circle of mourning and fate.
The goblins had made a grave mistake.