Chapter 31 Are Yule Serious?
are yule serious?
Holly
Holly’s phone rang the second she stepped into her room. Henry!
“Tell me you found something.”
“Hello to you too,” Henry said. “And yes. I’ve been digging through the archives since Dad called. And then doubled down after your message. You’re not going to believe what I found.”
“What?”
“I’m sending you a photo right now.”
It was a scanned parchment with singed edges and faded ink. Holly sat on the edge of the bed, tapping to enlarge it. Symbols she half-recognized wound around a central illustration: a great tree with radiating roots, each curling outward like rivers of light.
“Okay,” Henry continued. “Most of this comes from what survived the 1700s records—the pre-Santa era, when the North Network was still forming. I found references to a “Heart Tree,” or sometimes “the Root of Light.” According to the notes, every magical current—the veins that feed our workshops, sleigh routes, even the auroras—originates from one central source.”
Holly frowned, tracing the faint lines of script. “The Yule Tree,” she murmured. “But Henry, we already know this legend.”
“Patience, Hol. I’m getting there. I’m piecing this together bit by bit from different texts, some of which require translating.
But if I’m correct, the Yule Tree isn’t just a source of power.
” He took a deep breath. “It’s alive in a way we don’t really understand.
The notes say the Yule Tree chooses when to reveal itself.
It calls out to those it trusts to protect it. They’re called Guardians.”
She stilled, remembering the whisper in the shower.
“Every record of the tree’s reappearance coincides with a moment of imbalance. When the world drifts too far toward disconnection, the Guardian is called. And get this—the Guardian isn’t a Kringle. They’re someone of the land. Someone rooted there, and tied to the magic instinctively.”
Ivar.
Her mouth went so dry she couldn’t speak.
“There’s more,” Henry continued, “but I’m still piecing things together. However, I can tell you that if the Yule Tree is ever destroyed, the lines fracture, the North weakens, and the auroras fade.”
Holly sank back against the headboard, phone still pressed to her ear. Outside, the wind sighed against the window, stirring the snow.
“Henry.” Her voice was barely audible. “Ivar, the forest ranger, saw the tree too.”
There was a long pause before Henry spoke. “That could only mean one thing. Ivar is the Guardian.”
This time it was her turn to pause as she collected her thoughts. “He saw it as a child, like the legend says.” She imagined her brother frantically taking notes. “I have one more question. Is there any mention of powers bestowed upon the Guardian?”
“Powers? Nothing specific that I’ve come across, but I think it’s safe to infer that the Guardian must have some kind of ability if they are to protect the Yule Tree. Why? What has the Guardian done?”
The Guardian. “I saw Ivar heal a plant. The stem was broken and then healed by Ivar’s touch.”
“Are you sure?”
“Henry, yes. Of course I’m sure.” Her voice rose with impatience. “Please keep digging.”
“I will, but I’ve pretty much gone through our entire archives.”
“I know you’re doing your best. But Ivar and I are stumbling around in the dark.” She stood, moved to the window, and somehow knocked over the broomstick.
Of course.
“Have you contacted the Befana side of the family?” she asked.
“No, why?”
“I might not have told Dad everything.” She explained about the broom and La Befana’s words.
“You should have mentioned this before,” Henry said, using his older-brother-knows-better tone.
“I have a lot going on. And then there’s the Hales. How are they connected?”
“And don’t forget about Christmas. It’s only two weeks away.”
“Helpful, thanks. It's not like I haven't been keeping track. Those daily alerts from Dad's office wouldn't let me forget if I tried.”
“Hang in there, Hol. I’ll do my best.”
Holly set her phone on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, one word filling the room as if it were a ghost. Guardian.
She reached for her broom. “Did you know this?” Of course, it remained still.
“You’re supposed to be guiding me… so guide.
How do I tell Ivar he’s a Guardian?” Snow drifted lazily past the window, catching the light of the streetlamps.
Beyond them, the forest lay still and dark, a sleeping giant beneath the stars.
The thought of Ivar out there—his steady presence, his quiet reverence for every tree, every ripple of wind—sent a pang through her chest. Of course the magic would choose him.
Her phone buzzed. A new message from Ivar. She smiled despite her worries.
Ivar: You awake, Kringle?
Holly: Maybe. Why?
Ivar: I’m prepping for the Tree Hunt. You bringing your broom?
Holly: Only if I can use it to knock you off your sled.
Ivar: See, that’s the Christmas spirit. Get some sleep. You’ll need it.
Holly: You too, Ranger.
She set the phone down again, her smile fading into thought.
Tomorrow, they’d search for the Winterwood Christmas tree. And she’d have to decide if she was ready to tell him the truth—that the tree he’d been searching for all his life might have been searching for him too.