PULP & POPCORN

Page 47
“It is, Lord. I swear it.”
“…then I thank my loyal subject… and I accept.”
Black Peter stood with the Major Domo and a number of Noel’s other servants just
outside the double doors of the court, waiting for some word. When the doors swung open
and Noel stepped out, his face had changed, hardened in some way from the decision he had
made.
“Black Peter, gather your men.”
His younger brother instantly read the new tension in Noel’s visage, and he was taken
aback by it. “Brother, it is a night of celebration. What task would you ask of us?”
“I ask nothing,” he barked in response. “I command you to go to the village and bring
back all the children you find there.”
Now Black Peter knew something was wrong. “The… the children? But…”
Noel lashed out and slapped Black Peter, the noise like a gunshot, echoing off the hard
stone walls. “I have given you an order. Now take your men and go.”
Black Peter stared his brother down, saying with his eyes what he could not aloud,
then finally bowed his head. “Of course. As you wish… my King.”
In the village below Noel’s castle lived the people closest to his heart, families who had
served his for time beyond memory. They were simple people, well cared for, and they had
known peace for generations nestled safely there in the shadow of their King.
At the heart of that village was a small stone church, a modest building just big enough
to hold them all. The entire building was aglow with candlelight that night, and the entire
village was crowded in together, every family, voices raised together in song and prayer.
In those times, in that place, Christmas was a simple night to give thanks to God. No
presents, no trees. The people in Noel’s land used that night as a reminder that there was a
better world waiting. It was a holy night.
And on that particular holy night, there was a distant sound like thunder.