Candleloriam

The Christmas tree that is most inimical to the spirit of joy.

It stands with its star against eternity, and the wind of chill desperation rustles through the needles on its branches.

The Cursed Christmas Tree Candleloriam, that has a coal mine at its roots, that stands at the borders of the Principality of Wavewrack and Fog and thinks relentlessly.

Candleloriam, the hater of humanity.. and yet…

Once, it was years past, when the world was colder even in summer and the darkness when it was dark at night was the true dark, that could not be gainsaid.

There came from out of the southern isthmus of stones that led from the darkness and the place where Candleloriam commanded the sky and seabirds an old man, undernourished, his coat stained red with his blood that poured from the deep wounds of his back.

Weary, he sat in the natural chair the bole of the tree formed, and resting his head against the wood he felt the misery of the world flow in its sap.

On that tree from which no man kens where the roots of it run, the old man rested, his blood admixing

the blood that trickled through the grooves of bark, and with delirium he dreamt of death

and the world of death, encircling creation

And the tree Candleloriam was made anxious by the dreams, and the dread, and the dying of the old man — although none of these things by themselves was something that would have ever stirred that tree before, now it was stirred and it said in the depths of the man’s mind

Mortal, what do you want of me?

By the well of Urd I silent sat, I saw and meditated, I listened to men’s words.[ but the words were empty.

From the mouths of children comes the joys of language before words pollute that joy,

From the eyes of children come the true light over all.

From the wombs of mothers, from the loins of men comes all goodness that corrupts.

The cold wind now blew in from the North, and Candleloriam stood askance the man, and let the wind encircle and freeze his blood

And the man sacrificed to the tree his mortality in exchange for a promise, and the great stags from the North came out of the fog and carried the man thence, where he would make his kingdom and be allowed one day of every year to reward the goodness of children but also if he found in them any bad he must bring a lump of the coal that is formed beneath the twisted roots of the wicked tree Candleloriam, for that is the gift of the tree to humanity.

The gift of Candleloriam, the hater of the people of Earth.

This Story was written by IG Agent 71 but is not part of the soon to be published Chronicalia Of Phantaz.

Preceding stories of Interest