|Posted on November 4, 2013 at 10:00 PM|
How Nicholas Became Santa Clause would make the perfect gift this Christmas.
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The color from the smoke faded and the picture unwound into thin threads of dissipating smoke. Prince Geldon stepped forward again. “Show us Zili of Illuminae.”
How Nicholas Became Santa Clause Instantly the smoke darkened, involuting at its center. But the color of the smoke turned red, the color of blood. At the center of the scrying smoke, the assembly saw the workshop of Thomas Clause. Tables, chairs, workbenches overturned, injured humans and Oddling lay on the floor. Gasping, the assembly remained silent. Recognizing the home of Tom Clause, Wallace sat forward on the stone, his right elbow on his knee, his fist clasped beneath his chin. A red headed soldier held Thomas Clause down by the side of his neck, his cheek mashed into a tabletop. “I know you are hiding Sarah here.” Zili growled, restless, pacing beside his red headed enforcer. Jax strolled the table thwacking Thomas around his upper body with a riding crop. Mary poured over Thomas, crying and pulling at Jax. Another soldier pulled her back. “The girl is nothing to you. She won’t care if you lived or died.” Zili lowered his face within an inch of Thomas’s. “Consider your family, your wife. Tell me where she is.” Zili grumbled, simpering trying to restrain himself. “And I will let you go.” He lifted an apple from the table and cut out a wedge with his knife. “If you do not, I shall slit this old winch’s throat.” Zili snickered, leveling the tip of his knife at her neck. Jerking Mary from the soldier, Zili yanked her head back by her hair, her back extended over his raised knee. Her red headscarf came off in Zili’s hand. He slapped the flat of his cold blade to her throat. “Please?” asked Zili, his voice up-toned, his mouth filled with slices of apple. “You have to the count of three, old man, to tell me where she is.” Zili snapped. “One, Two...” He turned the edge of his blade to her skin. 223 Sandra Jo Troupe & Darrell R Troupe, Sr. “NO.” shouted Sarah, bursting through a trap door in the floor. She screamed to the limit of her breath. “Please, Stop.” Zili gazed to Sarah. He laughed. “There you are you naughty girl, in the turnip cellar, very clever. Oh, yes--Three...” “NOOOO.” Sarah cried, rushing toward Mary. Simpering, Zili drew the cold steel across Mary’s throat. In slow motion, Sarah struggled to move but she could move no faster. Thick rich blood poured over Zili’s right hand. Sarah could not save Mary. Clutching her throat, Mary gurgled. Blood spewed through her wrinkled white fingers, her eyes fixed and wide. Zili tossed Mary’s limp body aside to the floor. A pool of red grew around her body until the floor was slick with her blood. “Trash.” He muttered, sneering. Tom broke from the soldier, and Jax. He grasped futilely at Zili. Grinning in Tom’s face, his chin pressed to Zili’s chest, Zili, with as much force and hate as he could muster, thrust a dagger into Tom’s abdomen. Reeling backward, Tom’s face was pale and flat, with an expression of dying horror. Staggering back against the table, he turned from Zili. His arm reaching for her, Tom took one step toward Mary before his leg collapsed beneath him, the knife poking from his heart.