Once upon a time, in a land of ice and snow and
reindeer, two twin boys were born to a broken mother and a caring father. Their
mother was a sad figure, depressed, and full of sorrow; she neglected her
children, feeling nothing but pity for them and disgust for herself. The death
of her baby daughter a few months before the twins were born had cost her her
soul. She would listen to them cry, bawling out in hunger, and she would turn a
blind eye, looking out the window at the frozen, white landscape. Her condition
became worse as the days went by, with nothing her husband could do to help
reverse the sickly process of her mourning. He could only contribute by
offering an alleviating substance, an amnesiac that made her forget her woe by
stewing rare violet mushrooms he found in the forest surrounding their cottage.
Yet in the winters, there were none to collect and the husband felt helpless to
watch his wife on her bad days. Little consolation did he find in caring for
the boys.
The one was fair, the other was dark, but the colour of their locks was not the
only difference between them. As they grew the fair one became kind and
obedient, while the dark one was mean and defiant. The dark one was a noisy
little toddler, naughty not nice, he always created a riot in the house when
their father was away, spoiling food or peeing in the fireplace or hitting his
brother, and he paid for it dearly every time. His mother would go mad on him,
beating him until he could shed no more tears, with the fair boy watching in
fear. When the father was home, the mother would just sit and stare out the
window, as if in a trance, completely detached of what was going on around her,
even if the dark boy threw a tantrum. The father would coax him and tell him
stories in order to make him stop. The boy soon became aware that he had some
power over his father’s good will, and he hated his mother for not responding to
his fits in the same way, but more so for the beatings she laid on him. His
hatred boiled inside of him until he began having wicked, wicked thoughts.
The more malignant the dark boy became, the more compassionate the fair boy
did. He revoked his brother’s cruel nature by helping his father with the
household, reading to his mother and being affectionate, making her presents
although she didn’t seem to care for any of it. Her neglect only made his
desire to bring a smile to her face greater. His kindness even towards his
cruel brother astonished their father who was seriously worried if and how the
balances were kept in that house, when he was away, hunting or bringing back
firewood. The catatonic mother, the fierce dark boy and the gentle fair one.
As the seasons went by and the boys grew into young men, their mother’s
condition had worsened and the fair young man strived to warm his mother’s
heart. The father returned from the one day bringing back only one mushroom rather
than the usual handful. There were no more. The fair young man knew what this
meant. His mother would not make it through the winter. In a split second he
was out the door and into the cold sunny day in search for the salvaging substance.
His father ran after him, knowing the fair young man was not safe unarmed in the deep
woods, as creatures made furious with hunger by the frost would pounce without
hesitation to claim a fresh meal. The dark young man stayed behind, in the cottage
with his mother, a mischievous grin on his face. He went near her chair and
tapped her on the shoulder. She turned her head round, and he stared into those
dead milky eyes. He then looked down at her worn hands, the hands that had
bruised his body so many turns in her sudden rages of emotion, and his eyes
flashed. He walked away from her and threw the last mushroom into the fire and returned to the kitchen, stooping over the pot of stew his brother had been making
before he stormed out.
The father and son returned shortly to find the dark young man stirring the
stew. The fair young man looked at his brother in dismay. The twins sensed one
another; usually when one was planning something horrible, the other would try
to do some damage control if he couldn’t deter his brother from causing harm,
or would do something nice to balance the scales. But in this case there was
nothing he could do. His twin had done the irrevocable. The father searched the
table where he had left the mushroom. The dark young man gestured it was in the
stew that was brewing. But the fair young man knew this was a lie. And there
was nothing he could do to reverse this, or save his mother. He felt sick for
what his brother was capable of and came to the conclusion that violence only
breeds violence. So much was the hatred inside the dark young man. He vowed
that when his mother had passed he would leave this place and all the awful
memories of his evil twin behind and make himself useful to as many people as his heart could hold; he
could not stand malevolence any longer.
And so he did. When the time had come he departed on the darkest day of his
life, determined to fight misery and unhappiness whenever it crossed his path.
He dedicated his life to learning medicine and divine meditation, and his
mission was travelling the world, helping strangers, the less fortunate, the
elderly, children, animals. Children were his weakest spot of all. He was
welcomed in every village, in every establishment, in every inn, in every home.
He spent his days as a nomad, but in happiness for he knew the value of his
work, and it was recognized by all. His reputation preceded him, being called a
holy man, practically a saint, the man with the greatest heart in the world,
the man who cared for each and every one. It was not long since news of this ‘Santa’
reached the ears of the Wickedest Man in the world. The evil brother had become
an abhorrent alchemist, a man of lethal potions and deviant spells, a soul that
exuded treachery and trickery in his every breath. His pride could not bear the
thought that his brother’s actions would lessen the evil he brought upon the
wretched world.
The Wickedest Man began to trace Santa’s journey until he was
tracked down near the North Pole. There he challenged him to a duel that is
known in folklore as the Wild Hunt, a ghostly procession through the overcast
sky, where the forces of Good and Evil clashed and demonic spirits attempted to
consume the angelic ones. The battle carried on for an entire winter, the
demons in mad pursuit of the angels across the skies, along the ground or
just above it. Then, the greedy demons were no longer content with chasing
spectres and began to target humans as well. It is said that on the Eve of
Christmas, Evil ambushed Good and Santa was thrown off of his mighty Pegasus
and plummeted to his death, sacrificing himself to save the world of this feud
and to spare the lives of mankind. The Wickedest Man in the world believed he
had won and called the battle off, victorious, and this satisfied his hunger
for power. However, the same night Santa fell, his own sacrifice became a gift
that was beyond Evil’s victory. He rose as an eternal spirit, untouchable,
invincible, impervious to Evil. He resides at the top of the world, in the
North Pole, looking over the children from afar. He assigns an elf to each
child that is born to protect them from harm, to act as their guardian.
And so it stands until today that each Eve of Christmas, on the anniversary of the night of his fall, Santa rides
his sleigh through the midnight sky, led by a dozen reindeer, and visits all
the children of the world, both the naughty and the nice, leaving all of them
presents for he knew, that unkindness towards a child is the worst kind of
evil.
