“I hate it,” said Lalli.
It was the only accurate statement he could make, under the circumstances. Which were that he had no idea what the… thing… was, but he could already see several reasons to hate it.
For one, it was far too large to be sensible: it towered over the main square like a fancy house. It probably wasn’t a house, though, since it was made of straw, which was a poor building material, especially in a town full of Cleansers. (And which was horribly, hatefully itchy, of course. Just looking at all the straw made Lalli want to scratch himself.) And then, it had a weird shape, a bit like a moose beast with extra horns and legs, but more lumpy.
“Yeah, it’s pretty ugly.” Emil had stopped looking at him expectantly, and gone back to staring at the thing, craning his neck to take it all in.
“And weird,” Lalli pointed out.
“And weird. Although, I think that’s on purpose? It’s meant to look like a beast.”
“I have never seen a beast like that.”
“Have you seen all the beasts?”
From anyone else, this question would have been an obvious mockery, but stupid Emil with his smiling face was fully capable of believing that Lalli had, in fact, seen all the different types of beasts. Which actually made it possible for Lalli to admit the embarrassing truth. “I haven’t. Especially not in Sweden. Is it a Swedish beast?”
“No, I think it’s made up. And by a sick mind! Just look at that tongue.” Emil pretended to shudder, bumping Lalli’s shoulder with his own, but not in a bad way. “Ugh.”
The tongue in question was bright red, made of cloth, and ridiculously long: it hung almost all the way to the ground. “Some beasts do have tongues like that,” said Lallli. “To extract food from small places.”
“It looks more like something used to capture live prey while it’s trying to hide. In small places.”
Yeah, that’s exactly what Lalli had said? He shrugged.
“Anyway.” Emil had replaced his mock-disgusted expression with a determined one. “I need to set it on fire.”
Of course he did. And, for once, Lalli felt exactly the same way. “Okay,” he said.
“I actually have a very good reason, this time!” continued Emil confusingly, as if Lalli had not already agreed to help him. “You see, there is this tradition, going back to the Ancient World. Every winter, Swedish towns build these beasts, and every year, the local Cleansers set them on fire. It’s supposed to bring good luck in the coming year.”
So, a religious ritual. Lalli had noticed that the allegedly godless Swedes did have quite a few of them, even if they seemed determined to deny it. Sweden really was a very, very stupid country.
Even Emil… He was clearly the best Swede, and Lalli had been right to pick him, no matter what Onni believed, but he wasn’t very logical. “It can’t be an Ancient tradition,” Lalli told him. “There were no Cleansers back then.”
“Oh, right.” Emil frowned. “Well, I guess some other group would have been responsible for the fires. But I know these straw beasts existed, even back then! I have seen pictures… Well, one picture. Of the Ancient beast, not of the fire.” He sighed. “I have never actually seen the fire.”
“Until this year,” said Lalli. “When do you want to start it?”
“I am not sure. I mean… Here’s the thing. See those guys milling about by the feet of the beast?”
Lalli nodded. “Yeah.”
“They’re from the town guard, and they are going to, well, guard it. Starting right now. It’s part of the tradition: guards protect the Gävle beast–that’s what it’s called, I don’t know why, maybe it’s an Ancient word for Yule–and Cleansers evade the guards to set it on fire.”
This tradition made exactly as little sense as all other Swedish customs. “How do they protect it? Just by patrolling the area?”
“Yes, day and night.”
“That’s dumb. We don’t need to be very close to the thing to set it on fire. We could just throw one of your explosives at it.”
“Yeah, people used to do that sort of thing a lot, at first. With fire-setting bows and spears, mostly. So now there’s another rule: when setting the fire, the Cleansers must touch the beast, and to prove that they have, they must collect a trophy.”
“Like, a piece of the thing?”
“That’s right! This trophy is then presented at the Cleansers’ Yule banquet. A head is traditional.” Emil looked up again. “Straw is pretty light, isn’t it? So we could probably carry that head between us, right? I think the other teams will have more than two members, and, yes, we could try to recruit more people, but, well… it’s not like we have many friends in our unit.”
His face turned sad, the way it usually did when he talked about the other Cleansers, and about how he had expected them to like him now that he was good at stuff, and how shocking it was that skill seemed to annoy them just as much as lack of skill did. Lalli’s attempts to offer comfort by explaining that there was nothing wrong with being disliked by stupid, unreliable people never seemed to help at all. So, this time, he didn’t even try. He decided to change the subject to something more promising, instead.
“There are teams?” he asked. “Is this a competition?”
“It is, yes. The victorious Cleansers are rewarded with a large amount of alcohol, to be shared with their unit. And I think our unit would really like that. And, hopefully, like us, too, for winning it! Unit Twelve has never won anything, you know.”
This did make sense to Lalli. Unit Twelve–their unit–was particularly incompetent. And particularly fond of drinking. “So who wins, usually? And do you know how they do it?”
“It’s usually Unit Five, and their methods are pretty well-known. They tend to cause a public distraction–the first time they won, they sent sheep running through the square; last year some of them dressed up as an attacking giant–and then to immobilize the distracted guardsmen before cutting off the head and setting the fire.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“Yeah,” said Emil. “We obviously can’t pull off anything like it. But I thought you might have some other ideas? More, you know, scout-like ones?”
Lalli considered the beast: its bright, flapping tongue, its lumpy body, the angle of its legs. And then, the number of the guards, and their patrol patterns.
“I do,” he said. “Come on, let’s get ready.”
***
Emil crouched behind a bench at the edge of the square, feeling nervous. And, worse, scruffy. Like a bum. Lalli had insisted that he wear a particularly dull, dark outfit, complete with a hat to hide his hair, which would have been bad enough, but then he had also rubbed soot into Emil’s face. Emil had tried to protest, but there really hadn’t been enough time: they had decided to start as soon as it was dark, to give the other teams fewer chances to win.
Anyway, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe the soot was actually flattering? It definitely looked good on Lalli: the dark stripes across both his cheeks really brought out his eyes.
But this was no time to be thinking about… fashion. It was time to focus on the task at hand! Emil stared at the hind leg of the beast, the one with the gentlest slope. At any moment now, Lalli would be back, to give him the signal to climb it. And then…
And then: fire!
Emil slid a hand into his pocket, checking on his supplies yet again. Feeling them under his fingers sent a surge of excitement–and optimism–through his body. He stared at the beast some more, imagining how the glorious flames would spread across the dry straw. The sloping hind leg might even be the last part to go, a final, defiant torch, bright against the night sky!
“Psst!”
Emil almost gave a little scream, clapping his hand over his mouth just in time as he looked around wildly, scanning the darkness.
“Here,” said Lalli. From right next to him. Wow, those clothes and the soot really worked! Emil had not seen him approach, at all.
“So?” Emil asked. “What do you think?”
“You can make it easily. When it gets steep, just use the rope.”
“What rope? Why would there be a ro– Wait, did you put it there?” As often with Lalli, Emil felt outclassed. “You’ve already been up top, then?”
Lalli did not bother to reply. He just stared towards the beast for a few seconds, his eyes glowing faintly, before giving Emil a small push.
“Now! Run!”
So Emil ran towards the chosen leg, his heart pounding–because of the excitement, not because of the effort, obviously–and then clambered up as quickly and quietly as he could. A little past the knee, where the slope got steeper, his grasping hands encountered a not-straw-like sort of coarseness that could only be a rope. With its aid, completing the climb was no different from getting over some of the obstacles on the Cleansers’ training course. Easy!
At the top of the beast’s main body, he paused, but he barely had time to catch his breath before Lalli was passing him and leading the way across the creature’s back, towards the neck.
Emil opened his bottle of accelerant and followed at a slower pace, leaving behind a thin trail of the pungent liquid.
“I hope the guards don’t smell that,” he whispered once he caught up.
“Shh,” replied Lalli. ”Listen.”
When Emil obeyed, he heard two interesting things. First, the sounds of a distant but approaching commotion–a happy one, all songs and cheers–and, then, the reaction of the guards below. This started with a few quiet murmurs of “What is that?” and “Isn’t it early for the Cleansers?”, but a drill-sergeant-like voice soon asserted its dominance.
“Silence!” it bellowed. “Assume defensive positions! Stay alert! And don’t fall for Cleanser tricks!”
When Emil peered downwards, he noted that the guards he could see did, in fact, seem very alert. They had ceased their patrols and now stood, batons in hand, in front of the beast, looking around carefully and paying only minimal attention to the card that had just rolled into the square.
Emil admired their focus. He himself could not help staring at the brightly-decorated, brightly-lit cart, topped by a small group of beautifully-clad musicians performing an Ancient anthem. The singer, dressed in a golden outfit whose sparkle filled Emil with envy and longing, punctuated her performance by reaching into a sack at her side and tossing something into the gathering audience.
It looked like… confetti? Heavy confetti, which glittered in the lamplight as it tumbled to the ground?
No, Emil realized as he watched the audience scramble to collect it. Not confetti: coins! He felt a bit dumb not to have realized this immediately, given the words of the song. The very, very catchy song.
“Money, money, money!” he found himself singing under his breath, in time with the singer. Oh, he really did love Ancient music!
A sharp elbow in his side brought Emil back to his senses. “Start the fire,” Lalli said.
Right, the fire! It was the one thing better than Ancient music, and Emil really wanted to start it. But… “But the guards are still so alert. They will see it at once!”
“Yes, they will,” said Lalli. “Escape will be hard. We will have to split up. You go first and distract them, while I get away with the trophy.”
“They’ll catch me!” Emil didn’t want to sound cowardly, but he really didn’t like the look of the guards’ batons.
“Yeah, but if you make a lot of noise, and I use my luonto, I am sure I can–”
“No. I have a better idea.” Emil drew his sword. “Let’s cut off the head, like I wanted to in the first place.”
Lalli frowned at him, but only briefly, before nodding.
The catchy money song helped, by setting a good working rhythm, and even by providing some sound-cover. Some, but not enough: by the time Emil was three-quarters through the neck, he could see a few of the guards glancing upwards. Pointing upwards, even.
He redoubled his efforts, leaning out over the existing gash in a way that felt rather dangerous.
“I got the trophy.” Lalli appeared at his side. “Let’s go.”
“Right, I just need to–”
The straw of the beast’s neck glowed with a faint blue light before splitting apart with a dramatic tearing sound. A few people shouted, louder than even the music. Emil recognized the drill-sergeant-like voice.
“To me! Protect the head!”
Yes! The plan was working! But there was no time to lose. Emil had wanted to savor the moment of setting the fire, but instead he was off the moment he was sure the flames had taken, racing down the beast’s back, towards the rear. He could not find the rope (Was this even the correct leg? There were so many!) so he half-slid, half-scrambled down without it, his palms burning. He hit the ground hard, and then a guard ran at him, arms outstretched as if in a hug, so he feinted to the right and ducked under the man’s left elbow.
He didn’t stop running until he was back behind the bench.
When he looked out over it, he forced himself to search for signs of pursuit (luckily, none) and to check on the head (now the site of a small battle between the guards and a small group of newcomers) before allowing himself to stare at the fire.
It had not reached its full glory yet, but it was already spectacular: tall flames ran the length of the beast’s back like a crest. As Emil watched, the crest widened, spreading down the creature’s sides. The center of the square was bright with firelight now. It reflected off the musicians’ costumes as they ran to join the fray.
Oh right, there was no music anymore, apart from the subtle roar of the flames.
“Nice fire,” said Lalli, who had obviously made it too. “Do you want a coin?”
“What?” Emil tore himself away from the burning beast to look down into Lalli’s left hand, which was full of small shiny disks. And then at his right hand, which held a single disk. This one less shiny, as if the gold had been peeled away.
“They’re sweets,” Lalli explained.
“Oh! Sure.”
Emil took a coin, and nibbled on it, savoring the sweet taste of victory as he watched his first Gävle beast burn.
***
The Yule party was exactly as terrible as Lalli had expected: painfully confusing, with all the bright lights, odd smells, and especially all the sounds. So many loud objects bumping against each other–crockery, cutlery, furniture–and so many people, all talking and shouting and occasionally shrieking. About what, he had no idea: although his Swedish was obviously great now, picking out individual words in the great wall of noise was impossible.
He would have left immediately, but Emil had promised that it wouldn’t be long before their moment came. So, he coped as best he could, pulling his knees up to his chest and curling in on himself, and trying to block out reality by focusing on magical threats. It worked pretty well. There were no trolls nearby, and the ones he could sense off in the distance felt muted enough to be comfortingly familiar rather than distressing.
When Emil finally nudged him, he took a deep breath and uncurled slightly, coming back to the party. It had improved a little: most people had stopped talking. Only Captain Lundh, the one with the purple nose, was speaking now, from a standing position in front of the officers’ table.
Lalli didn’t listen to the exact words, but the expectant look with which the Captain finished his speech was probably a request for beast-related information. Anyway, Emil was already standing up, so Lalli put his feet down and joined him.
“Captain Lundh!” shouted Emil. “We–”
Before he could announce their victory, however, the door of the mess hall burst open, letting in a strange crowd: about half of Unit Five, a half-singed straw construction held aloft on their shoulders. While Emil cursed and muttered something about unnecessary dramatics. Lalli stood up on his chair for a better look.
Right. The construction was, indeed, the straw-beast’s head. It looked, if anything, uglier than before, and also a little bit pathetic.
“Unit Five claims its prize!” shouted one of the beast-bearing women. “Behold our trophy!”
With that, the group threw the singed head down onto the ground by the officers’ table.
The captain stepped closer to inspect it. “Yes, that seems legit,” he said, giving it a little unaimed kick that sent it wobbling. “Unit Five, you have, once again–”
“You did not even look in its mouth!”
The shout had come from Emil’s direction. When everyone in the room turned to stare towards him, Lalli did so as well, although he didn’t really need to look at his friend to know that his face was bright red, much like the small cloth bundle he held in his hands.
Interestingly, the Captain had turned even redder. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry. Sorry! I only meant– Well, we–” Emil shut his mouth, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath before yelling, “Unit Twelve claims its prize! Behold our trophy!”
And then he raised the bindle and, with the smooth motion he normally used to throw explosives, tossed it down the length of the table. As it fell, it unfurled, draping itself gracefully over assorted cups and plates.
Lalli had been wrong: its color did not match anyone’s face. It was much, much brighter.
In the silence that followed Emil’s claim, he heard the Unit Five woman cursing and muttering something about unnecessary dramatics.
The Captain meanwhile, stared at the table for a while, his gaze taking in the full length of the tongue. Then, he shrugged, and kicked the head once again, this time in a more focused fashion. Its mouth lolled open, revealing the scarlet base of its cut-off tongue.
“Yes, that seems legit,” he said. “Unit Twelve–”
“No!” shouted the Unit Five woman. “I must object! That pathetic scrap proves nothing. Västerström probably stole it from our quarters. Or got his pet Finn to do it! You know those scouts, they are–”
“The rules are clear,” said the Captain. “The unit with the most convincing trophy wins. Even if they stole it, according to the Post-Fire Theft Amendment of Sixty Two.”
“A tongue is hardly even a trophy!”
“It’s a perfect example of a sub-trophy, as described in the Plucked Eyes Amendment of Forty Seven. The one that states that sub-trophies trump trophies. Have you even read the rules, Holmberg?”
In response, the woman glared. Not at the Captain, at least not for more than a second: at Emil. Most of Unit Five followed suit, and a few even supplemented their glares with assorted gestures. Lalli did not understand all of them–they were probably Swedish–but the ones he did recognize were obviously threatening.
So, in spite of their clear victory, Emil’s plan, to make friends through their victory, was a clear failure. It made Lalli feel sad–and even helpless. This was not the sort of problem he had trained for.
The Captain, seemingly unaware of the threats, continued. “Now that’s all settled,” he said, “Unit Twelve, step forward–”
“One moment!” Emil’s face looked, if anything, even redder than before. “If I might make a suggestion?”
The Captain sighed. “What is it now, Västerström?”
“As someone who was actually there, I do not think Unit Five lost to us, exactly,” said Emil. “They made their move at exactly the same time we made ours. It’s just luck that we got the better trophy.”
What was he doing? Lalli scowled at such blatant lies.
As did the captain. “So?”
“So, it seems only fair that…” Emil took a deep breath. “That our two units share the prize.”
The captain shook his head. “Seriously, does nobody read the rules? They make no provision for sharing.”
“Well, they should, in cases like this. So maybe you could just… amend them?”
“I must second this,” the Unit Five woman put in. “We all love amendments. They\re so fun to read!”
The Captain stared at her, then at Emil, and then over his own shoulder, towards the officers’ table–and his drink. When he turned back, his face was set. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll add an amendment. Tomorrow. For now, Units Twelve and Five may claim the prize together, as long as they do so quickly and with no further argument. Otherwise, I might be tempted to confiscate it.”
From his position high on his chair, Lalli watched as several members of both units rushed towards the prize and, after exchanging a few words, grabbed all the bottles and strode out of the room. Together.
“Come on.” Emil grabbed his arm. “Let’s join the party!”
***
It turned out that, traditionally, the prize-drinking party took place in the barn.
“It’s to keep the booze safe from the rest of the Cleansers,” Emil had explained. Rather hastily, as several people, from both units, were clamoring for his attention.
After verifying that none of them looked immediately threatening, Lalli left him to it and climbed up into the loft, from where he could observe everything in peace.
It was annoying and a bit unfair, having to share the victory with dumb Unit Five, who had almost ruined the whole mission. He could see that the two units didn’t exactly love sharing, either: he noticed a few exchanges of snarls and insults. But none of these developed into an outright fight, and, over time, everyone seemed to relax.
Especially once the singing started.
The small choir that formed itself at the edge of the party, singing the repetitive song from the town square, contained members of both units. Most notably, the woman from the Yule party, and Emil, who looked very happy.
Lalli watched him for a bit. Eventually, Emil noticed, and slipped away from the choir. A minute later, he appeared at the top of the loft ladder, drink in hand.
“Behold the spirit of Yule!” he announced, waving the hand around in a wide gesture.
“You’re spilling your drink.” Lalli told him. “And what are you talking about? Some sort of ghost?”
“What ghost? I didn’t… Oh, right. No, the spirit of Yule is what we call this drink. Which is not mine, it’s yours.” He thrust the drink in Lalli’s direction, spilling a few more drops. “Just try it! You won’t hate it, I promise.”
Well, it did seem to smell okay: the scent coming from the mug was a little spicy, like the best sort of baked goods. Lalli accepted it, and took a cautious sip. Then another.
“You’re right,” he told Emil. “I don’t hate it.”
The warmth of the drink spread throughout his body as, down below, the two units continued to mingle.
mod's note: apparently there's a live feed of the 2022 goat. The soundtrack is mellow piano renditions of Christmas songs, so mute it if that isn't your thing. As at this writing (which is a wee while ahead of posting), the Goat was intact. By the time you click into it... who knows?
