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years later that Magnús was born and she
learned to love again. Two years later, Leifur, two years after
that, her Lilja. But the boys had been mischievous from the day
they could walk, and when Lilja came along, they included her in
their mischief. They terrorized the livestock, firing their
slingshots and hitting them with sticks. Berglind sometimes thought
she had spawned her own Yuletide Lads.
    But they were her children. It would
not—could not—happen again. She must do something. She had to
protect her children from Grýla and her brood. Even if she had to
sacrifice some of the animals, she would protect her precious
family. “Oh why could I not have borne good and sweet children? Why
am I cursed? Snorri, please come home soon.”
    She stored her memories back in her
head, dried her eyes, and went back to the cooking area to tend to
the lamb stew she had been preparing for their evening meal. The
children would be hungry.
    She carved brown bread and brought it
to their small wooden table.
    The door flew open.
    The children were home.
    “ Mama, he was here!” Lilja
yelled. “Stekkjastaur!”
    “ We tried to stop him,”
Leifur said breathlessly. “He was so ugly.”
    “ And big,” Magnús joined
in. “Short, but big like a boulder. We could not stop him. He tried
to grab Lilja, but we pulled her away—”
    “ But he drank the ewe’s
milk,” Leifur finished. “He drank it all and then the ewe fell down
on him. He giggled and gurgled and… and…”
    “… and he scratched and
kicked at the ewe.” Magnús picked up the story for his frightened
brother. “I made Leifur take Lilja away… but it was terrible, Mama.
He killed the ewe. Blood was everywhere. I ran out. I could not
stop him. He was crazed—”
    “ This is not good, my
children. Stekkjastaur is mischievous but not evil, like his
parents. I had hoped we would not see them this year. I fear it is
an omen.” Berglind patted Lilja’s head. “Calm yourselves now and
come and have your supper. Lilja and I have made half-moons for
after, but you must eat all your stew and brown bread. You need to
stay strong to help Father with the farm.”
    Lilja sniffled. “Why isn’t Father home
yet, Mama? Where is he?”
    “ Do not cry, child. He
will be home soon, I hope.” She added the last as an aside to
herself. “Eat, children, eat. I will go and take care of the ewe.
And tomorrow you will not wait so long to take care of the cows
from Giljagaur. Promise me.”
    “ We promise, Mama,” the
three said, going to the table and getting their spoons.
    “ Here is what we will do,”
Berglind said, resolve in her tone. “Tomorrow, before dusk, you two
boys will leave out five buckets of milk in front of the paddock.
This should appease Giljagaur. He may skim all the froth he wishes.
I want you all inside for the evening. Darkness comes early this
time of the year, so be sure to give yourselves enough time. Do you
understand me?”
    “ Yes, Mama,” the three
intoned again.
    Berglind’s idea worked. The following
evening, while the five milk buckets were cleansed of their froth,
her children and the animals were safe. Her children had not been
good, and her primary concern was the knowledge that Grýla could
come lumbering down the hillside at any time. The hag could decide
to take any or all of them and Berglind could not stop her. Every
day the sense of encroaching disaster grew stronger.
    The following two nights brought two
more of the hateful Yuletide Lads: Pönnuskefill, the pan-scraper,
and Thvörusleikir, the spoon-licker.
    Berglind brought the children in early
for supper both nights. They had their meal, and then Berglind set
outside two dirty pans the first night and three wooden spoons the
second. The loss of three spoons far outweighed the loss of her
three children. If she could satisfy the Lads, maybe Grýla would
leave them alone.
    She hoped.
    December sixteenth brought
Pottasleikir, the pot-licker, and as she had done with