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The Tears of Kas̆dael
The Djinn Who Saved Christmas

The Djinn Who Saved Christmas

*Clank* *Clank* *Clank*

With a muffled groan, Jasper stirred, leaving a trail of drool on his elbow as he lifted his head. His eyes snapped shut a moment later as the light seared him, followed by a pang of pulsing pain that felt like it would split his temple.

What the hell? Fully awake now, he tried to muster his thoughts, but only snippets of memory came back to him. They’d been celebrating victory - that much he was sure of. There’d been drinking and dancing and… He groaned as the realization hit him. A hell of a hangover. But unlike his college days, he didn’t need to tough it out. He kept his eyes shut from the painful light as he reached for his essence and his fingers moved clumsily with Circle of Forgiveness.

He groaned, this time in relief, as the essence washed over him, carrying away the throbbing pain in his head. Placing his knees on his hand, he sat up and cracked an eye open. The light was no longer searing and he opened them fully, glancing down as he felt a cold draft tickle his skin. His armor and weapons were gone, and even his robes were missing, leaving him in nothing but his skivvies. Where are my clothes?

He looked around, expecting to find his clothes strewn across the ground, and froze. He wasn’t in his tent - hell, Jasper wasn’t sure where he was, but the room around him looked like someone had vomited Christmas all over it.

The walls on three sides were painted with bold stripes of red and green, and a row of evergreen wreaths that ran across the top like a border. The fourth wall was even odder, as it was made up of what appeared to be a row of candy-cane-themed poles, set too close together to squeeze through. Baffled, Jasper stood up and walked stiffly over to the poles, peering between them.

The room beyond was just as full of holiday cheer as the one he was standing in. A massive living evergreen occupied the heart of the octagonal chamber, decorated with bright glass bulbs, strings of cranberries and popcorn, and merrily burning candles that struck him as a fire hazard. Other holding cells just like his populated the sides of the chamber, and in one of them he spied an oddly familiar character - a fat old man dressed in red and white robes who was running a metal mug back and forth across the peppermint-colored poles. I’m in prison with Santa.

He snorted in amusement as he reached the obvious conclusion. What a crazy dream. Certain he was still asleep, he tried the usual methods to wake himself up; he pinched his arm and wriggled his toes, and when both of those failed, he yelled, startling himself as his hoarse voice echoed around the room.

“Shut up.”

Jasper froze as a familiar voice mumbled sleepily, and spun around. He’d noticed the second cot in the far corner of the room, but he hadn’t realized that anyone was under the massive green blanket tossed over it. “Ihra?”

“Shoos..” She replied half-heartedly, slurring the word as she drew the blankets tighter around her.

This is still a dream - right? A trickle of doubt filtered into his heart but, shaking it off, he walked over to the cot and dragged the covers off her. “Rise and shi-!” His voice rose awkwardly as he realized Ihra was wearing as little clothing as himself and hastily averted his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, though she only responded with a sulky growl.

“Go away…” she murmured.

As he tossed the blanket over her, more of his faded memories from the night before resurfaced. That’s right - the two of us had left the party, he remembered. We headed back to Ihra’s tent to… Jasper frowned as he struggled to recall why they had gone to her tent, not liking the obvious conclusion. We weren’t that drunk, were we? Then it came to him. “That’s right,” he blurted out loud, “Ihra wanted to try out a ritual she’d found in Aphora’s grimoire, some sort of a portal spell.”

The lump beneath the covers groaned as he spoke, and he glanced down at the cot as the realization hit him. Holy crap - this isn’t a dream. He staggered a half-step back, his eyes searching the room with newfound urgency. Are we actually in a Christmas-themed dungeon? But there isn’t even Christmas in Corsythia - I mean, the feast of Mirth and Frost is kind of similar, but it doesn’t have the whole bright colors and flashing lights aesthetic home does. Is this… Jasper paused, almost afraid to allow himself to draw the conclusion that sat on the tip of his tongue. Are we on earth?

The idea seemed too absurd to contemplate, but Jasper was forced to admit that stranger things had happened. Not many, but a few. His fingers twitched with Circle of Forgiveness as he cast it over Ihra and reached over to shake her shoulder. “Ihra, I need you to get up. We’re…in an odd situation.”

The covers parted, and Ihra sat up, rubbing her eyes as she glanced around the room. “Where are we-” She froze as she noticed his lack of clothes and an expression he couldn’t decipher flitted through her eyes. “Did we?”

“No. I don’t think so,” he hastily shot down her unspoken question. “But that’s not important, right now. We’re in prison. We may be on Earth. And - this is the crazy part - I think we might just be in the bloody North Pole,” he babbled.

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“Earth?” Her eyes sharpened as she searched the room, quickly narrowing in on the candy-striped bars. “It’s…brighter than I imagined,” she said slowly, and his lips twitched.

“Not really,” he assured her. “We just seem to have stumbled into the set of a Christmas-themed kiddie show - I promise you my world isn’t normally this gaudy.”

“It’s not bad - it's kind of charming!” she protested, and Jasper shook his head.

“Focus, Ihra - we’re in jail.” He reached over to one of the bars and, bracing his feet, strained with all his might to bend it. “And despite looking like candy, these are definitely made from solid metal,” he continued as he gave up his attempt.

He looked away as she stood up, letting the blanket fall, and approached the gate. “Let me try; the Still Pond might do the trick.” A squeal of metal followed as she wedged the bars further open, stopping and starting until she’d opened them just wide enough for a person to slip through. “Come on.”

Turning sideways, she stepped through, barking with pain as her antlers caught on the bars. “Stop, stop, let me help you.” Grabbing her head, Jasper carefully rotated it until the antlers slid free and then moved to follow her. Although the space she’d created was more than wide enough for her to slip through, it was a tight squeeze for him, but with a bit of pushing and pulling, he finally popped free.

“Now what?” Ihra asked. “Do we find the person who kidnapped us?”

“I think we’ve already found them,” Jasper replied wryly.

“Where,” her head whipped back and forth as she searched the room for their attackers. “The old man?”

“You really don’t remember?” He scratched his head. “Last night’s still a bit hazy, but the last thing I recall is heading back to your tent to help you try out a portal ritual you’d found in Aphora’s grimoire. I think we were trying to portal to the Caribbean,” he added, as a memory of extolling the virtues of pristine beaches and warm water returned to him.

“I…” Her mouth twisted in concentration, followed by a warm flush in her cheeks as her memory resurfaced. “Selene’s grace - what was I thinking? And this?” She stared at her surroundings again. “This is the Caribbean? You kind of oversold it.”

“Uh, no,” Jasper chuckled. “I don’t know what went wrong, but I’m pretty sure we're at the polar opposite of the Caribbean. The North Pole,” he added, at her blank expression. “The better question is why we’re in prison, with Santa Claus, no less. Come on, let’s go talk to him.”

The clanking stopped as the two approached the red-clad man. Up close, Jasper could see he was a bit rougher than he’d expected. Sure, he had the long, luxurious beard and the cheery red and white clothes, complete with a stocking cap, but his cheeks were wan and wrinkled, and his custom had the ill fit of a man who had recently dropped a ton of weight.

“Jasper Welles?” Santa’s voice was a warm, husky baritone despite his sickly condition. “But you disappeared from my list last year. And you, young lady,” he turned his attention to Ihra, a troubled look on his face. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name. You look a bit like my elves, but you’re much too tall, and those antlers - ah!” His expression lightened, and he snapped his fingers. “Ho, ho, ho - you’ve come to save me! Did Tsiāhu send you?”

Jasper stiffened in surprise as Santa name-dropped the Corsythian god. “Tsiāhu? You know him?”

The old man wriggled his hand. “Distant colleagues,” he replied cheerfully, “He doesn’t like to acknowledge me, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me out to dry. Not with Christmas on the line!"

“Uh, actually,” Jasper ran his fingers through his hair, “we’re not here because of Tsiāhu.” The Caribbean’s sunny beaches ran through his mind, and he rethought how they’d arrived here. “Well, I don’t think we’re here because of Tsiāhu,” he admitted.

“But you’ll help me?”

“Well,” Jasper shared a glance with Ihra, who shrugged.

“I have no idea who this old man is,” she replied bluntly. “But it sounds like he knows Tsiāhu, so perhaps we should hear him out.”

“What exactly is the problem,” Jasper asked.

“Why, what else?” The man chuckled. “Krampus took me by surprise, and with the ossuary in his control, I’m rather limited in options. We’ll need to reclaim it if we want to save Christmas.”

“Krampus? You’re kidding.” Jasper raised a brow in disbelief.

The twinkle in the old man’s eyes faded. “Tis no joke. Krampus is an old and dangerous foe. I’d thought him still imprisoned, but it seems he found someone to loose him.”

“I mean, if you’re real, I suppose Krampus isn’t that much harder to believe, but it’s just so…cliche.” Jasper shook his head. “So, you need our help to defeat Krampus?”

Santa nodded, and Jasper turned to Ihra. “Think you can bend these bars far enough for him to squeeze through?”

She looked uncertain. “I don’t know. He’s kind of…”

“Fat?” The man chortled. “Don’t you worry, lass - I think you’ll find I’m good at squeezing into tight spaces. The problem isn’t the bars, it’s these." He lifted his hands, allowing Jasper to notice for the first time that a pair of silvery bracelets adorned each wrist. “Even with his control of the ossuary, Krampus was afraid I’d make my escape. The bars won't be an issue if you can get these off of me.”

“How do we take them off?”

“It requires another magic user,” Santa replied, looking at Jasper expectantly. “Unless my senses have dulled, you cast a spell in your cell, didn’t you?”

“Sure, a healing spell, but I don’t know anything about picking locks.”

“No need,” the old man hummed. “If you feed enough mana into them, the locks will release, spell or no spell.”

“I guess I can give it a try.” Reaching through the bars, Jasper grabbed the silver cuffs but immediately release them with a hiss. “You didn’t say they burned,” he said, wringing his hand.

The old man fixed him with a wry grin. “They’re on my wrist, boy, 24-7. You can hold on for a few minutes.”

Jasper hesitated a second, then bobbed his head. “Fine,” he muttered and grabbed on. He forced his thoughts far away as the pain flooded his senses, focusing his mind on the gentle lapping waves of the ocean, the soft breeze against his skin, and the warm burn of the sun against his back as fed essence into the manacles. A loud click interrupted the serenity of the scene, and the burning stopped as the cuffs fell to the floor.

“Ho, ho, ho - many thanks, young Jasper,” the man boomed heartily, and his body distorted as he stepped through the bars. “Now, on to the ossuary!”