Father Christmas by Charles Vess Page A

awful race. It has been told to me—by one who knows the truth of these things—that they have but one daughter, and she, through some alchemy known only to trollkind, is as beautiful as the flowers in spring. It was she whom you saw. It was she who has enchanted you so.
    â€œMany have thought they loved this same maiden. Many have sought her. And many more have died trying to claim her for their own.
    â€œBut if you truly love the Troll King’s daughter then you must not track and hunt her as if she were some common animal. You must woo her with gifts and with flowers. You must whisper soft words and gentle poetry in her ear. You must build for her a bower of sweet meadow grasses, and fill the trees about it with every manner of bird, so that their song will grace your hours spent there with her. Then she may listen to you. Then perhaps she may return your love.”
    The very next morning when he again stood before the great woods, Nikolas pondered all that had been said to him by the wise woman.
    Yet also he remembered the tales that he had heard around every fire over the long winter nights here in the North Country. Those stories were filled to overflowing with the savagery of trollkind. He knew that it was dangerous indeed to seek those creatures in the midst of their deep, deep forest. For those who did so seldom returned to tell their tale.
    Still, Nikolas laid his spear and his bow and his quiver of arrows in the long grasses at his feet. And lastly he grasped his hunting blade and held it for long moments before placing it, too, beside the others.
    Then, with only love in his heart and unafraid, he entered the great forest.
    *****
    Now, the palace of the Troll King is set so deep in the deepest fold of that wood that it took more hours than that midsummer’s day had to offer for Nikolas to reach it.
    So when finally he beheld that terrible palace, many days and dark nights had passed and, above him, through the looming trees, the sky was touched with color, red and pink and gold, that trumpeted the fast approach of yet another night. Before him the palace of the Troll King looked for all the world like a great tumble of tall gray stones blanketed with a deep green carpet of moss, which in its turn was covered in a panoply of delicate flowers of every hue and color. And set upon the summit of those stones was a great oak tree that looked down over the forest below it.
    Silently, so silently, as fading day became true night, Nikolas crept to the entrance of that strange palace of stone and of moss. But before he could step into the dark passageway that led within, a dozen troll maidens danced past him, tripping lightly over the now-moonlit path.
    And Nikolas was well pleased, for at their head was the maiden he had sought for so long. But his heart quaked when he saw the fearsome troll guards who followed closely behind her, for the King and Queen’s only daughter was always carefully guarded wherever she would go.
    Even knowing the danger, Nikolas still stepped boldly forth and, in sight of all, fell to his knees.
    The Troll King’s daughter looked down at the strange human who knelt before her and saw that he had no spear in hand, or bow strung over his back, or hunting knife close by his side, as so many other hunters had hung about their bodies during their vain efforts to trap or possess her. This man simply looked up and spoke words of poetry from his heart that gently wrapped themselves around her own, ensnaring it more firmly than any hunting net ever could.
    Then and there she fell finally and completely in love with her strange human suitor.
    Before Nessa’s guards (for that was the princess’ true name) could impale her lover on their sharp, sharp pikes, the maid snatched him up, tucked him under her arm, and leaped away, disappearing into the vastness of that vast forest. Oh, the strides she made then, miles and miles with every single leap. If she had possessed the