WARNING: Probable cliff-hanger.

I've broken this chapter into two parts (the second is still a rough draft), because otherwise it would have been (est.) 4x as long as usual and several more months.

3/17/2018 Edit: Fixed spelling errors.


An Unspoken Truce


"You are not forced to stay!"

The words had rung within the deadened air—effectively silencing the shadow, as had been intended, but it was too harsh. Too raw. The walls surrounding Pitch grew—towering over him, threatening to collapse. He braced himself for when they did. No ice fell.

Pitch dare not look behind. He knew: the shadow remained, studying him. Silent in its attempt to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words.

Bitter winds gripped him, its frigid touch tearing at his skin: burning, burning! …then,

Numb.

.

.

Had it always been this quiet?

... ~ ... ~ ...

A couple days later, after Pitched had calmed, the shadow returned. It hovered on the edge of Pitch's consciousness—waiting patiently. No words were exchanged between the two as Pitch continued with his task. This moonless night would not last forever (however much he wished it true). It was best to prepare a room in advance.

.

An unspoken truce formed between the two. Pitch would continue construction while the shadow watched silently. It never stayed for long (unwilling to break the fragile trust), but it was enough.

As time passed, a routine developed. By the time construction on the hidden room was completed, the routine had become ingrained.

The room's intended purpose had grown into a treasure-trove, library of sorts. A place to store and display all the gifts the shadow had brought. While there were certainly enough books and poems to be considered a library (though most of the literature were loose-leaf), other trinkets such as figurines, writing utensils and stationary, and fine-crafted weapons were on display, too (although the latter was rare).

Although dim, what little filtered light that managed to enter reflected off the ice's surface, creating an unearthly glow that provided enough illumination to move (without risk to stubbing toes) and to read without much eye-strain. (But Pitch had long grown use to that slight irritation in a time best left forgotten.)

Pitch found the book he wanted next to the black knight the shadow had taken (to give to him) from a chess-set. The piece had no extravagant details. It wasn't something fancy, just a wooden carving of a horse's head painted black, but Pitch could guess why the shadow chose it as a gift…. (Still, he had always enjoyed strategy games and horses.)

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, Pitch grabbed the book, sat himself comfortable in the icy chair (having become impervious to the cold) and began to read.

The shadow appeared just as Pitch turned the page. No acknowledgement was given save for the barest straightening of Pitch's posture. (There was an audience, even if only one shadow. He had to be presentable.) The shadow remained, and Pitch continued to read.

Ever-so-often a faint chink could be heard of ice hitting ice. The shadow had to entertain itself somehow. It didn't handle being quiet well. (Pitch was impressed it had lasted as long as it had.) He didn't think much of the shadow's departure, assuming it had left to go and exist elsewhere. That was, until snow dropped onto his lap.

He could feel the shadow's attempt to suppress its amusement. As he brushed the snow away, the shadow's presence began to fade again, slowly, as if saying: if you insist…

Withholding a sigh, Pitch placed his book down. (Really, just when he had mentally praised the shadow.) "Do you want something?" he asked.

"FINALLY!" It practically shrieked (how it managed to do so without vocal chords was a mystery). Do you know how long I've waited for you to ask?

A sea of grass—green, gold, and tall—was shown to Pitch's mind's eye. Horses grazed within the meadow. The sun shone mightily; the sky a brilliant blue, and cool shadows rested within the nearby woodland's shade. It was a pleasing sight; a far cry from the ghostly blues and gray of the arctic crevice. 'Come with me.' The shadow said. 'It'll be a nice change of pace. I promise, there is no moon. I've already checked.'

Pitch took a moment to look back at his book (the written words calling to him), then at the recent addition of snow on the floor. "I suppose you'd bury me in snow if I refused."

This time, the shadow did not attempt to hide its delight.

He opted to close his eyes (wary of the sun's blinding light he was sure to see) before the gentle embrace of the shadow enveloped him.

.

Pitch was transported within the woodlands, and warmth flooded him. He was grateful for the cool shade as he adjusted to the sudden temperature change. It wasn't unbearable, per se, but he had grown use to the cold and dark.

Although within the woodlands, he was close enough to the clearing to hear the horses' as they grazed. Soft hoof-falls against padded earth. Long exhales in a huff of breath. A sharp crunch of leaves to his left, followed by a warm puff of breath…that touched his cheek.

(Definitely not the wind.)

He jerked, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly as they continued to adjust. Finally, the dark shape in front of him came into focus, and Pitch found himself staring into the eyes of a jet-black horse. Wise, intelligent eyes stared back at him. (It had been so long…)

A jolt of panic (not his own) brought Pitch out of his reverie as the beautiful horse broke the stare—ears flicking and head turning towards whatever it heard. Pitch allowed his gaze to follow, and his breath caught. There, a mere four paces away (approximately), was the boy. Older, but not by much.

Relief flooded the boy's face as he turned and saw the horse; his brows knitted together briefly before relaxing. A broad smile formed on the boy's face. (How Pitch wished that smile was for him.) Distantly, Pitch heard another call "Jack!", and the boy stopped in his tracks.

So, the boy's name was Jack.


Constructive Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

.

Author's Note:

Have any song suggestions for this story?

Is there anything hinted within the story you'd like expanded on? If I cannot expand it in Forgotten King, I do have plans to make a side-story and/or one-shot collection once finished.