Luke went on his way, and our protagonists went on theirs. Up they went into the mountains, and through secret cracks and into esoteric places known only to the fantastical, and down amidst rocks which burned with a heat unlike any magma Caedes had ever felt. They crossed a lake of palpitating ice, which cut jaggedly across their flesh, and climbed a mountain within the mountain, descending back into the mysterious paths again, wending and winding their way into smaller and smaller holes in the earth. At last they reached a crevasse which seemed to have been sliced into the earth by some gigantic claw and, passing through it, found themselves in a paradise of the sort Caedes thought he would never see.

It was dark inside, but not the dark of the mountain, for the light of the moon could be seen shining clear overhead. This was not their moon, Caedes knew - not because it was green or because there were three of them, but because it was full, plumply dangling in the sky even though it should be waxing crescent.

It shone down with a gibbous light upon the most fantastic garden he had ever seen. Masses of greenery lay like waves before his eyes, climbing up in edged rows and floating into the sky high above on disconnected islands. The tangled garden was interwoven and jumbled together: shrubberies bled into vines which wound around knobby trees, which in turn gently guarded strings of flowers. The leaves were dark green or tinted a slight silver, and the moonflowers wavered softly. A quiet susurrus blended into the sound of tinkling water and a light rain, and Caedes was delighted to smell loam and petrichor riding the wind.

They moved through a winding dirt path, one tightly hedged with groundcovers and buzzing with all manner of winged and creeping insects, passing under floating islands and hanging gardens, peacefully absorbing the sounds, sights, and smells, but never once forgetting to search for their target.

And then they saw him. Yaaroghkh had told Caedes who he intended to meet, and at first glance - but only at first - Caedes was disappointed. This was no mighty cultivator - be one lithe and graceful in silk robes, or a muscle-bound freak - but a doll.

Small, raggedy, his patchwork body worn in places, with two stubbly legs at the end of the ovular blob that was his body, two round, floppy arms, and a lumpy head with two button eyes, two rabbit ears, and a single stitch for a mouth. He was wearing an overcoat of patches and burlap, and was carefully, meticulously pouring out his heart and soul in the painting of a dandelion.

And then he turned, and Caedes saw the blazing incandescence in his eyes and felt the earth turn with his feet, rumbling as it moved to accommodate him. Then realised he was staring at no mere tsukumogami but a cultivator with the power to create worlds… Was he Eighth Circuit, Ninth Circuit? Immortal? Caedes felt his heart miss a beat as the magnitude of the creature walking towards them confronted him.

The slit in the doll’s mouth bloomed into a full smile as he saw Yaaroghkh, and he held out his hands in greeting. The two embraced in a hug.

“Shlama loxun, Yaaroghkh u… shemmox ma=ile?”

“Shemme Caedes=le. Shlama lox, Kalota. Mato kefox?”

“Ana kef-i bash-ile! Minnox-wen, u psixa-wen. Mato kefoxun?”

“Psixa-le, u le wen; ana kpina-wen.”

The doll burst into laughter. “Pfft. Lela mushkila - I have cookies.”

And he led them down a path, whistling a tune, meandering here, then there, checking the health of blooms, clipping a twig, and moving the occasional beetle to a more advantageous spot. He addressed Caedes as he did.

“My most sincere apologies for having failed to greet you properly; you understand that opportunities to greet friends in like fashion come so rarely. It is not my name, but you may call me ‘the Doll.’ Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

Caedes knew he already knew his name - he had no clue what language the Doll and Yaaroghkh had spoken, but even he could identify his own name - but he nonetheless appreciated the gesture. “Caedes. I’ve been helping Yaaroghkh, the last week or so.”

The Doll’s gaze remained fixed on him, as he carefully adjusted the loam to make a better home for ladybugs. “Helping him? What wonderful Christmas spirit.”

Caedes would have spoken more, but at that moment they reached the Doll’s Home (he didn’t own a House, nor did he hold with the custom), and he invited them in for tea and cookies. They were handbaked, with jam (the cookies, not the tea), and accompanied by a strong camomile (the tea, not the cookies).

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When they were done eating and drinking - a meal that was conducted, not silently, but with great frivolity, for the elf and the doll knew all manner of little ditties and jests - then they settled down to discuss the matter at hand.

The Doll chewed on a pencil as he sketched out Yaaroghkh (terrifyingly, he actually managed to grasp his dimensions), his tone casual but his import serious. “It’s been a while, Yaaroghkh - more than a while, I dare say, by human counting. Have we met at all since the Fall of the Commonwealth?”

The elf thought about this. “Possibly. Was that before or after you instructed Bruno and Maier in the Way of the Pegasi?”

The Doll was going to reply, when it occurred to him that he too did not know, and he also fell into thought. Caedes was perhaps the most mystified of the three - for they were discussing events which, unless he greatly missed his mark, had occurred more than five or even six centuries ago, but as he had never studied history in any great depth he could not help them. Still, he felt they had more important things to do, and coughed his throat until he had their attention.

“I don’t mean to be rude, or to imply that we do not love your company, but I’m afraid we’re here not to reminisce but to seek your help in more urgent, ongoing matters.”

“Well, obviously you are here to reminisce. You’re simply not here to reminisce about the has happened, but rather to reminisce about the hasn’t happened yet,” the Doll commented inscrutably.

Caedes shrugged. He was happy to reminisce about the hasn’t happened yet, if it would help the cause of Christmas.

Yaaroghkh coughed. “Ja- the Doll here, is a bit of an old hat to the cultivation world, though not one who has walked long among it. You left it, what, seven thousand years ago, and haven’t returned?”

“Barring brief descents - Samothrace here, Fujian there. Where the pure at heart and the homely are, there I might be - usually at night, in halcyon glens of my own choosing. Which does raise the question - where do you want me?” The Doll had so far been quiet, reserved, but here his tone took on a measure of sharpness, not in anger at Yaaroghkh but in a sort of vague bitterness that made Caedes wonder about why, exactly, he misliked spending time amongst cultivators. It was none of his business, however.

Yaaroghkh spread his hands, all fifteen of them (though they lacked distinguishing characteristics, so there could have been only four or twenty seven), and began his narration. The Doll listened respectfully, refilling the tea at appropriate moments, and asking one or two clarifying questions as needed. When they were done he nodded.

“And what is your request of me?”

Caedes had expected Yaaroghkh to ask for his sword - as he had of Cindy - and was rather surprised when the elf gave his request. It seemed far too modest for what the Doll was capable of, but to his surprise he saw the latter nod.

“Good, good.” He chuckled as he saw Caedes’ expression. “You were expecting him to ask me to destroy Das Gleiche for you, weren’t you?”

Caedes blushed, prompting another chuckle from the talking children’s toy. “No need to be embarrassed. It would be a reasonable enough request, but an unfulfillable one.”

“Because you’re an immortal, and can’t get involved,” Caedes stated flatly. The Doll’s head cocked to the side, and he stroked at a non-existent beard.

“Well, yes but no. I don’t give a flying hoot in a pickle barn about ‘maintaining the balance’ or ‘politics’ or other equally farcical notions advanced by people who have yet to realise that they’re clowns. Outside of the few I trust, the others can stuff it. The problem is that it wouldn’t be sporting. How do I explain this… Have you ever heard the tale of the Town Musicians of Bremen?”

“The fairytale in the Brothers Grimm?” Caedes prompted, and the Doll’s fabric bloomed in a smile.

“I knew you were a good one. Not pure of heart - not yet - but I have faith you will be. Later, I will offer you instruction. Yes, the Town Musicians of Bremen is a Tale of Fairyland; one of several I ensured the transmission of to mortals, in hopes that they may find the Path back to the Garden.

“You recall the story well enough, doubtless, such that there is no need for me to recount it all. The four animals - each one of which signifies a rectified character trait of the human soul, but that’s beside the point - have been castout, abandoned, tossed aside by humanity because they are no longer ‘useful,’ and resolve instead to form a band. And what a band! Yet the crisis of the story is a paradox, for the band is defending a house from…its ‘rightful’ owners.

“A gang of vicious robbers and cutthroats, significant of every selfish impulse in the human soul, has made of that building a ‘house’: but the Bremen Town Band, when once they have played their music, can make of it a ‘home.’ The conflict between the bandits who live in the house, and the band who come in yet were always home there, is the central axis of the story: and it is music - admittedly, music of a most unusual sort! - that serves to end the evil in the world, and make of its abode a proper home.”

Caedes blinked his eyes. Now it made sense - in more ways than one. “I see…and in the case of Christmas…”

And here Yaaroghkh slammed his fist down on the table. “Christmas IS the music! It’s the jingle bells that accompany us as we ride, and to which we ride. Forget those sneering poppinjays who complain about Christmas music - there is no music without Christmas!”

The Doll toasted him with his teacup. “Quite. So you see, if you ask me for blood I cannot help you. But music is another matter; and if you ask me for that, well that I can do.”