Odinclaus has one eye. He traded his other eye for a second sight. It was an alchemic ritual. He boiled up a slaughtered boar, sugar, roots of ivy and holly, and the sap from an oak that grew on his father’s land. After stirring the mixture for three days, without sleep, he threw in two coins, one silver and the other gold. He drank the mixture until he could not drink anymore, then buried the coins in the earth, where his family had designated his future gravesite. He then asked the earth for a magic eye, and offered his own eye in exchange. As weeks went by, his left eye clouded over as it turned to stone. He fashioned a patch from leather, with rope made of linen. When he covered his blind eye, he found he could remember magic, and the horrible responsibility that went with it. In gaining second sight, he became a servant to it.
Odinclaus does not regret his sacrifice or resent his gift. He knows of another like him, so far south that the world goes past warm and turns cold again. This other is missing his right eye, and performed the same ritual. His eye is covered with a patch of bark held fast by bands of silk. They are the only two wizards in the world, and it is because of their work that the world keeps turning
It is time for the winter rite. Though the days are all now dark, Odin keeps track by watching the stars and minding his books. He gathers wood for his fire, and more for his cauldron.
They have not yet arrived, but Odinclaus is preparing. He lights a small fire under the cauldron to melt the freshly gathered new snow, sent as a gift from the sky. He adds the moss, the lichen, the sand, and half of his supply of butter. The blood has not arrived yet.
He knows they are coming, and not just because of his star charts. His stone eye can see beyond the horizon, and they are approaching.
A magnificent stag appears, with great antlers. Its coat is shiny and there is a small creature asleep on its back. Odinclaus waits for it to move into his camp, stroking his long white beard and smoking a long clay pipe.
The stag walks right up to the cauldron. It is, after all, time. The small creature on its back stirs and wakes up, yawning and stretching.
“Greetings Sleipnir. I give you the first of my thanks. Who is your friend?”
“I am Donner, Herr Wizard. The stag chose me at our meeting.”
“You know you will walk back alone? You know what lies before you?”
“Yes, Wizard. I am honored to serve.”
“Very well. You have them?” The small creature reaches into his purse, big on his small body, and pulls out a flask of wine and a silver knife. “Is it sharp?”
“The wine? Yes. The knife more so. I have been sharpening it on our journey.”
“Good, I hope your herald does the same for you. I will cut. We will both drink. You will stay in my home for as long as it takes. Then I will send you back to your people.” The small creature nods, though he is nervous. His people are long experienced with magic, but this is the winter rite, and he has grown up hearing tales about it. The wizard Odinclaus takes the knife from the creature Donner and walks to the stag, who has lowered its throat over the cauldron. He cuts its throat swiftly, as broadly as possible. The stag stands, quaking, as its life pours out into the gentle steaming stew, until it falls over, staining the snow in the flicker from the cauldron’s fire. Now the rite begins.
The wizard stirs for hours, instructing Donner to build up the fire when it goes dimmer. The snow melts in a widening circle around them. Odinclaus can see with his stone eye his southern counterpart uttering a prayer of thanksgiving. At last, the wizard dips in a small metal cup and drinks the cauldron’s brew. It is right. He and Donner alternate drinking until they are full to bursting, then they pass the flask of wine back and forth until it is gone. Donner has fallen asleep with drink, and the wizard carries him into his hut and puts him on a blanket before the fire. In the morning, Odinclaus and Donner will feast again on the cauldron’s contents, and they will also feast on the stag Sleipnir.
In the morning, Donner has grown two small soft horns on his head. He is becoming the king of his people. After twelve days, he is crowned, the cauldron is empty, and the wizard bids him farewell to walk back to his kingdom. King Sleipnir walks away to the still dark horizon, on new legs, and Odinclaus starts salting the stag meat, which he will eat throughout the year to maintain his immortality. He hums to himself as goes about his work, and, every so often, laughs in anticipation of the coming dawn, “Ho ho ho.”
© 2011 by Douglas R. Turek, all rights reserved.
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