Sugar Plum'd

Chapter 1“Don’t let the beast escape!” The command pierced Pembroke’s mind, slurring his thoughts like a river under the spell of Frost. The barking of charging armored walruses echoed off the walls of ice. He had to get out of there. He had to teleport away. What were the coordinates of the herd’s current camp? His antlers couldn’t lock on to any. 3 °2928’ N… …1 °0982’ E? Crippled by panic, Pembroke’s antlers faltered. He couldn’t detect anywhere but here. His horns malfunctioning, confused by the deadened signals of his skinned comrades beneath his hooves. Pembroke stood on a bed of reindeer pelts in a turret of carved ice, deep in the bowels of the Slayer’s new kingdom. The murderer. The banished one. Now returned. Pembroke couldn’t shake that first moment when it all changed. A large snow cloud, rising in the distance, like an avalanche from the sky, blotting out even the sun. It rose above the workshops and stables. The blizzard had seemed to reach into the sky, snatching away the sun and all its light. It had happened so fast, elf and deer given no warning. The banished elf, 492 now calling itself “the Frost,” had returned with a fury of swirling ice and snow. The elf, destroying all in its way, found the Toy-Maker in his private workshop. Pembroke yipped, trying to concentrate, not on the exploding mountains of piled sugar plums, nor the approaching self-appointed king, Frost itself, flanked by a pod of walruses with sharpened tusks. Fear like ice slithered through the cracks in Pembroke’s concentration. He couldn’t remember his own Emergency Wink Route. Pembroke cycled through all the coordinates he could remember, 60°…N…15’ E… His grid faltered. Once, like a golden net of ribbons, he’d threaded the globe in his mind, stringing the latitudes up and down, looping longitudes east to west. He could teleport anywhere with the right coordinates. Yet now, it seemed to waver, his fear unthreading all. He needed to calm himself down. He lapped at the blood trickling from the limp elf sprawled below him. Its blood, distilled with dust, proved the quickest way to a holly jolly. Or so Kassel had always said. Pembroke let the blood, sparkly with dust, cloud his vision. The reindeer swallowed the sweetness down, his tongue lazily falling loose from his muzzle. He shook his crown of antlers. It swayed back and forth, heavy with the blood of the elf. In drills as a fawn, Pembroke had found that panicking only made remembering coordinates even more impossible. If he was struggling to remember the correct longitude of Bovina or the latitude of Beppu and felt anxiety coming on; he’d divert the squall of panic into a stillness. He’d pushed his fears through a net woven of happy thoughts. Only a joyful reindeer could lead a fleet. If Pembroke could dig up some bliss within, the coordinates would eventually come. But only if he could unwrap the ease, which now trickled out of his mind like the syrup down his throat. The elf blood was helping. Pembroke’s mind thawed a memory of mirth. It was the first time he had tried elf blood. His first holly jolly. Pembroke had just returned from leading his first group wink. His crown of antlers hummed from the vibrations of all the fawns’ connections. Every fawn in their squad had their own antler signal. With concentration, the fawns learned to braid their signals into one. Only then did they transmit a united signal to their squad leader. Unison and synchronicity: the keys to guiding a sleigh even on the foggiest and darkest of nights. In this particular group teleport, Pembroke had been the leader. He had easily reshaped their signal, pulling the strands apart, bestowing each of their individual frequencies to one of the bone spokes of his crown. Together, he had led them to 34° 03’ N, 118° 15’ West. He shook away their frequencies as he did the remaining dust, his own antlers passing for silver in the moonlight. Pembroke stopped his prance towards the barns. Something was off. He felt eyes on him. He was being watched. He looked across the airfield. Most of the fawns had maintained their deer form, while only a few had changed to a humanoid form. All of them, Pembroke could see, were travelling in small excited groups towards the showers. The air tasted fresh, full of dust-laced hay. The northern lights sparkled above, but something pulled his focus back to the ground. Another bright twinkle—as if fallen from the sky. Pembroke’s eyes turned towards the stables. Within the shadows, a stag stood. Eyes twinkling brighter than the northern lights—Kassel. A pelt of midnight, his horns bluer than white. A pouch tied with gold strings hung from his mouth like mistletoe. Pembroke chuffed, kicked up the snow, dropped his horns low, and charged the stag. The stag in the shadows anticipated him, lifting just in the right moment. Their horns clashed with a wintry chime, their large furry snouts puffing the air, muzzles, side to side, shared breath. Their bows of horns locked. To disengage too fast could lead to the tips breaking off. It was a dangerous game, for once your antlers were broken, it could disrupt your receiving of signals, it could destroy your chance of safely teleporting. If too damaged, a reindeer would never be able to lead the Toy-Maker’s sleigh that season. He’d have to wait till a new pair grew in. They gently leaned into each other, up on their hind legs. Their forelegs rested atop the other’s furry shoulders. Their large hearts beat through their pelts. A tricky and careful dance. The more pliable one could be, the better were your chances of leaving the puzzle of horns unscathed. Kassel gently tilted his neck, his bow of horns sliding away, swiping the jellied dust from Pembroke’s. Pembroke’s antlers vibrated against Kassel’s. The stags shared their frequencies before slowly backing away. Pembroke silently followed Kassel to the stalls reserved for the deer training to be the Toy-Maker’s fleet. Pembroke followed Kassel down the familiar rows to where his own stall was situated. A golden plaque hung above his stall, Pembroke stenciled in cursive. Within, a mattress, trough, and a fresh bale of hay were laid out and on top a salt lick in the shape of a holiday ornament. Pembroke watched as Kassel scraped his antlers against his gilded name plate. Kassel looked around the stall. It was freshly swept by a young cadet. All of Pembroke’s practice harnesses were oiled and hung properly. He dropped the draw-string pouch on the fluffy mattress spilling golden hay, fresh, and there to be chomped or trampled. “Wow, Pembroke,” Kassel yipped, “good for you! I mean it’s true what they say; you join the Toy-Maker’s fleet and bam! It’s like merry merry! You teleport to a whole new life of jubilant deliveries!” Pembroke was immune to the stag’s sarcasm. He quickly concentrated on his Change. It was usually a performance filled with the tension between his beast and humanoid self. Pembroke shelved it—Kassel wouldn’t appreciate it. Pembroke’s horns receded; dripping jelly mess into his growing hair. His hands had formed by the time his fore-hooves reached out for a towel. He rubbed the jellied dust from his black curls. “I forgot the fleet encourages you to Change as much as possible.” “No,” Pembroke countered, reaching for the pouch Kassel had brought. “Hands can do things that sometimes we deer cannot do…” Pembroke dangled the pouch by its drawstrings nimbly. “What’s this?” Pembroke watched Kassel’s eyes change as they gazed down his transformed body. Yes, it was humanoid, but it wasn’t weak. Hillocks of muscle had bloomed beneath his brown skin. Not furry, just small tufts of black curls beneath his arms and between his thighs. Those in the fleet knew the importance of keeping strong for night launches and endless teleport deliveries. Who knew when they’d have to switch to humanoid form to help dislodge the Toy-Maker’s sleigh? The fleet always stayed prepared, working and training in their humanoid forms almost as much as their deer selves. Kassel whinnied, his eyes devouring Pembroke’s tight skin that was the color of roasted chestnuts. “The holidays have come early…” Pembroke lifted a crystal vial from the crushed, velvet-lined pouch. Within, a thick liquor shimmered an almost black dark-red, dazzling from the powerful infusion of ingested sugar plum. Pembroke gasped, fearing to drop the vial. “Elf blood?” “You gotta try it. It’ll be fun.” Pembroke looked at the stag who had already started his own transformation on the mattress. Pembroke looked down at his friend. Kassel never made a good man. His powerful stag body always seemed to resist the Change, so that he always seemed to be having a seizure as his body transformed. His voice cried out between snarls, like a protesting beast being swallowed. “No Kassel.” Pembroke turned away. “You don’t have to Change.” His fingers were already moist with sweat, anticipating the concentrated dust. Only the Toy-Maker’s favorites were able to even secure sips of His wine laden with elf blood. A delicacy of the Toy-Maker. Something this powerful made the most wonderful of gifts. Pembroke looked down at his own bale sprinkled with dust, barely glittering in the warm lantern light. But this vial, he’d need just a drop or two. Pembroke had heard the rumors of its potency. He winced, listening as Kassel choked out, “No, it’s okay, I know this is how you like to play and besides, I want to play with you. I want to play Toy-Maker.” The mention of Him made Pembroke turn back to his friend. Kassel sat perched in human form. His skin, dark like his midnight coat, dripped sweat, his eyes still large and liquid. His crown of horns was still there. Kassel was a reindeer who no matter how much dust he ingested, couldn’t fully transform into human. A point of embarrassment for some. Never for Kassel; he wore it as an honor. “Why have to exist in another creature’s form?” he had always said. Pembroke didn’t mind. Even with his forever stag head adorning the top of his human body, Kassel never looked anything but regal. Even in the weaker human form, his body possessed the power of coiled muscles stretching on a skeleton built from long tundra hikes alone, far beyond their herd’s complex. Pembroke gulped in the warm air, feeling it splash down his insides like falling streams of tinsel. Pembroke’s c**k rose stiff between his fuzzy thighs. Kassel got up from the mattress, a little ungainly. Pembroke could tell it had been awhile since Kassel had transformed. Pembroke’s eyes dropped to Kassel’s piece. Like Kassel’s bow of horns, it was furred and unchanged, large, and pointing directly up at Pembroke. The pink tip sharp like a spear, already beaded with a single pearl of anticipation. Kassel stumbled to him, ripping the vial from his hand. “I know you worship His image.” Kassel unstopped the vial with a clink like the first snowflake’s landfall. Kassel poured the elf blood over his d**k. It dribbled down his plump head and soaked into his furry shaft. Kassel pressed Pembroke’s face to it. Pembroke opened his mouth obediently, letting the fur-matted and sticky brush down his throat. His eyes welled up with tears, but his body had begun to twinkle. The taste, better than fresh gingerbread. It was like the northern lights being born within. His throat immediately relaxed, his hands dropping to support his body forced to its knees. Kassel continued, “Good little fawn. Drink it up.” Pembroke obeyed, though he had clearly passed through his fawndom. Pembroke’s ears pricked up as he noticed Kassel dropping his voice lower, as if he was filling it with coal, slowing it down, reminding Pembroke of the one and only Toy-Maker. Pembroke giggled in glee at the prospective change. Kassel laughed too, his antlered head thrown back in bliss. Pembroke watched, gobbling greedily at Kassel’s hose. The laced hay and horn jellies were a whisper compared to this. Filled with elf blood, his body felt like a runaway holiday train filled with the sweetest of candies, careening on the wildest of licorice tracks. Pembroke’s insides were melting into warm peppermint. Pembroke’s lips slobbered the sides of the stag’s c**k as it pulled out. The hay scattered on his stall floor felt like spun silk on his palms and knees. Kassel’s heavy breathing fell all around him, brighter than the fires burning in the lanterns. His voice changed, became gruffer and almighty. “Wanna play?” “Oh yes, Kassel!”