Chapter Eleven

The Pooka was silent for long seconds, bright green eyes staring at Jack's face with a sort of naked desperation. It was almost awkward, the stillness between them and the burning heat Jack could feel through his shirt where Bunnymund gripped his upper arm. The urge to pull away was strong, his dreams flashing through his mind and leaving a hot tingle under his skin. But there was something profound lurking in the moments that passed between them and Jack couldn't move. A heaviness closed in around his chest, squeezing the breath out of him and leaving a sense of anticipation.

Something flickered in the green depths and for a fleeting, almost hysterical moment Jack was certain the Pooka was capable of reading his mind and knew all of the wicked things his mind came up with in the dark of night. Could see how they tangled together in Jack's mind, limbs wrapped around one another and lips pressed so tightly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. But in the next moment that worry fled in the wake of hot breath on his face and his mind abruptly ceased functioning. There were green eyes hovering before his own, a soft nose so close he could feel the tiny hairs tickling the tip of his own. The Pooka had leaned in until they're noses bumped with every other shared breath, eyes locked and watching each other searchingly.

"Jack," Bunnymund breathed softly into the thick air between them and Jack let out a shuddering breath at hearing his name in that voice, wishing he dared move enough to pinch himself and make sure this was real.

The hand that wasn't already gripping Jack tightly came up to brush softly up his face and along his cheek, lightly chilled skin heating under gentle fur and claws. Jack drew a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering. The touch left sparks of fire in its wake and Jack was suddenly back in his dreams, curled with Aster under the dark forest of the Bogwood, exhausted but floating in a euphoric cloud of dying adrenaline and pleasure. He raised a hand to curl fingers through the soft ruff of fur around the Pooka's neck.

"Aster," the soft name tumbled between pale lips before Jack could bite them back.

Both rabbit and mage twitched like the word had burned them and the hands holding Jack dropped away in surprise. The sudden empty air around him seemed to pull all the breath from his lungs, the bright summer air pallid and cold compared to having Aster practically wrapped around him.

"How...?" Aster began, confusion creeping onto his face, along with no small amount of alarm.

"I-I don't," Jack stuttered, backing away and stumbling over the edge of the bush he had been hiding in. "It's not, I."

Jack gave up trying to explain and embraced the panic welling inside. He turned and ran, barely aware enough to grab his staff up from the ground where he had dropped it. A hand snagged in the back of his shirt, but Jack flung himself forward, feeling the fabric tear around short claws. He stumbled a little as he was suddenly free and allowed the moment to propel him forward.

In a moment of pure instinct, with the sound of large feet starting to move after him, Jack whirled his staff in a sweeping motion, pulling the light summer breeze around him until it swirled into a storm and he was swept off up over the trees and on toward the distant tundra.

He couldn't feel his fingers, hadn't been able to for the past few days. Sandy rubbed somewhat anxiously at the gloves he had bought in Onnaan to hide the fact that his hands were completely black, the shadow festering under his skin starting to creep its way up his arms. He knew that if he took off his jacket and shirt he would find splotches as high up as his elbows, growing thicker and more numerous the closer they came to his wrists, which still had a spot or two of his normal skin. He felt nauseous most days now, his magic burning inside him as it tried to combat the infection.

Sandy dreaded the moment the blackness reached his shoulders and could seep into his main system. He had seen it before. As soon as he shadow reached his chest, it would have access to his largest arteries, his spine and therefore the cord of nerves running through it. In his mind he had started to estimate how many days he had before he wouldn't be able to walk, before he would lose his sense of touch. How long before the shadow would creep into his eyes and blind him. Before his organs would start to fail. Two weeks to reach his elbows. Another two or three until it hit his shoulders. And from there it would spread more quickly. Four weeks total before he would be unable to continue on with the others.

He hoped desperately that he would be able to last long enough to break the Bindings, give the others a chance to take Pitch down before he fell to the Shadow. Sandy clenched his hands, watching as the fingers moved in reaction to the signals from his brain, even as it felt like he had done nothing. It was eerie and he had to look away.

Instead he examined the cabin Nicholas had built himself in the Northern Forest. The furs lining the floor were perhaps a little ostentatious and tasteless in Sandy's opinion. But it was hard to focus on them in comparison to the fantastical carvings that hung from the walls or rose up from bare spots on the floor. It seemed that for all Nick had abandoned his magic, he still had that flare for Creation. The man imagination had no limits and Sandy had always thought he should have gone on to train and test as a Sand Mage. But he knew why North had never done so. The man had no interest in the mysteries of the human mind and the whimsical world of the Dreaming. He was a man of hard physical reality, with a love and passion for finding the limits of this world...and then breaking them.

He stood from his seat by the large fireplace, empty for the summer heat, but necessary during the winters. He walked over to a particularly large carving done in a dark, nearly black granite. The rock was not native to the area and Sandy wondered how far Nick had gone in order to find such a large chunk of stone. The carving was polished to a smooth shine, delicate birds drifting on thin spindles that looked much too small to support themselves, let alone the birds perched delicately along them. As he walked around the piece, his own motion made it seem as if the birds swung in motion, dancing on air currents, feathers ruffling in the wind.

In a brief flash of memory, Sandy was back in the tower, in North's rooms as they prepared for the birth of the man's first child. Mages rarely married, but Nicholas had become enamored by one of the unGifted clerks down on the administration levels. She had been a beautiful woman and Sandy had wished her a long life, so far as the unGifted were prone to longevity, but she had perished in childbirth. He remembered spelling the ceiling with his Sand, weaving paths for the new Dreamer that would be gracing the cradle swaying slowly by the window. It would ensure easy Dreams and restful nights, both for the child and the parents. But the statue more reminded him of the gift North had made for his child. A Creating of birds and clouds and stars, drifting and twinkling and singing quietly over the cradle, so the child could watch them before falling into Sandy's dreams.

"It is interesting piece," North said in a voice that was oddly quiet for him, breaking Sandy out of his reverie. "Very frustrating to carve."

Sandy nodded, sad golden eyes looking up into blue ones filled with an age-old tired acceptance.

"It has been a long time," Nicholas sighed, turning away from the carving and carrying a tray of food and drink over to the small table before the fireplace. "Too long. It is difficult to remember, but no longer painful. Centuries are more than enough to remember the good times."

Sandy wished he could offer comforting words, but settled for a friendly hand on the shoulder, though he himself could not feel it. He wondered who Nicholas was trying to offer comforting words. Perhaps both of them. Perhaps no one.

The silence was broken as Toothiana fluttered in through the open front door, settling her feet onto the ground. Sandy nodded in greeting.

"Ah, Toothiana," Nicholas boomed, regaining his usual boisterous timbre. "We are ready for lunch I think. Will Bunny be joining?"

"I'm not sure, he was still wandering the camp last I saw," Toothiana replied, taking a seat with them and reaching for a plate of fresh fruit. She scooped up a few blueberries and began munching on them. "He has been in an odd mood lately. He cannot be blamed though, the news we brought him was rather shocking."

"Ah, so you know then," North nodded, picking up a leg of grouse meat and chewing on it.

Sandy and Toothiana shared a perplexed glance. Was Nicholas already aware of the third mage?

"You know then, about the third Binder?"

"Third Binder?" North asked, looking confused. "I was speaking of Pitch's return."

"Well, he is awake," Toothiana agreed. "But the Bindings are still whole enough to keep him trapped within the Dreaming."

"I think not," North disagreed, shaking his head. "He may not be fully capable of entering the waking world, but he was here in the forest. Jack saw his shadow walk the woods and the nightmares he was able to call to his side."

Both Fae and Sand Mage froze in their seats. Sandy felt a bubble of hope burst in his chest. Barely restraining himself from jumping out of his seat, Sandy waved his hands urgently, a golden question mark of Sand appearing over his head.

"You know Jack!" Toothiana almost shrieked in her own excitement. "This is wonderful, we were afraid we would never find the third mage!"

"Perhaps, we should all get our stories straight," North said after a moment of somewhat tense and confused silence.

Sandy nodded and fished around in his bag, peering inside more than necessary to compensate for the fact that he couldn't actually feel what he was grabbing. After long seconds of silence, Sandy finds what he's looking for. He hands Nick his old journal, bookmarked for the important passages, and the now slightly rumpled old painting. Nicholas smoothes out the painting first and stares at it.

It was late afternoon by the time Jack finally managed to undo the spell he had cast and the wind dropped him like a sack down through scrubby trees growing out of barren rocks. In the distance he can see taller, darker trees – the edge of the Great Northern Forest. In all other directions is a continuous landscape of dry grasses and brush clinging to crumbling rocks. He thinks there may be mountains off to the north, but if there are, they are covered in snow and are hard to tell apart from the hazy clouds hovering low on the horizon.

It was also cool, like he had managed to stumble onto a land where summer dared not tread. It was bleak in a way that reminded Jack of the empty ice fields of his dreams, where any life form that dared try its luck either died quickly or struggled every moment to survive. It wasn't the same easy quiet sleep of winter he loved, where the snow blanketed the world in a soft silence while animals hid warm in their dens and birds flew south. Where the cold could be escaped inside four walls with a warm fire. Even this half-warm time of year up here seemed cruel and uncaring and Jack, for the first time in his life, hated the cold.

He tried to remember how he had called up the winds to carry him, but his actions all seemed a blur of instincts fired by panic and he couldn't remember anything but a long sweep of his staff and magic burning in him, a cold fire eating his insides until he was light enough for the wind to whip away into oblivion. He looked up again at the distant forest, where he knew a warm bed was awaiting him, and waved his staff hopefully, reaching delicately for the magic he usually tried to ignore.

A rush of wind swirled around him and Jack spread his arms hopefully, but his body remained heavy and his feet firmly planted. A spark of chill hit his nose and he glanced down, eyes crossing. A snowflake sparkled in the edges of his vision and Jack looked up. Flakes swirled around him even as the sky remained clear and he huffed in frustration. His breath misted and frost curled along his staff and up his arms. Jack let the magic go with a sigh of defeat and started walking.

The sun was already past its noon zenith and Jack doubted he'd make much headway before dark. He hoped he'd at least find some taller trees before the sun moved close to the horizon. He did not expect it to become full dark, not so far north (it didn't get much past twilight even back in the forest). But he knew from his years of sleeping in the open when he couldn't afford a bed that dusk and dawn were when animals came out. And when prey was awake and moving, so were predators. Jack had heard stories about the size of the bears and had no desire to confirm those rumours.

The silence in the room was deafening as North finally set aside both journal and painting. Sandy stared at his gloved hands, wondering what there was to say.

"So," Nicholas finally croaked out, his usual good humour replaced by old stress lines that Sandy had hoped he would never see again.

"We need to find that boy," Toothiana said, her voice soft as if she was unsure her words were wanted. "Otherwise we cannot hope to reach Pitch."

"I do not remember a Jack," North said softly, something haunted in his eyes as they skittered over toward the painting with the small boy. "But I know the boy in the painting. I don't remember him as a child. But he is here in the camp, and his name is Jack."

For a long moment none of them moved, each staring blankly at the long forgotten food and drinks sitting there. Sandy's mind warred between relief that they were closer than he had dared hope they could ever be and a deep sadness for his old friend. So long spent mourning a son that hadn't actually died. It felt like abandonment to Sandy (he didn't dare let his mind wonder what it was Nick might be feeling), even though the rational side kept pointing out that he had not had a choice. That the boy had volunteered for the task.

And they had let him.

Before the mood in the room could deteriorate anymore than it had, a figure appeared in the open door. Sandy looked up to see Aster, a troubled look creasing the Pooka's face.

"We might have a problem," the rabbit said, his ears drooping down and a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

The sun had circled down toward the horizon and the shadows had started to get longer along the ground, but the trees still remained too short to climb for safety. Jack sighed in resignation and decided that if the light remained good enough he would walk through until he made it to the trees. Even if he ended up needing to sleep an entire day to regain his energy afterward.

Anything was better than spending more time in this tundra waste, nothing but the crumble of rocks under his feet (and he dearly wished for his old boots, even the calluses he had built up weren't enough) and the wind whistling through the grasses and dry shrubs to break the silence. Even the odd bird call only sounded lonely and desperate to move on.

A burble, water rushing on rocks, met his ears and Jack stumbled off toward it, finding a small stream bubbling up out of the rocks to pool slowly in one of the deep crevasses that cut the land where heavy freezing during the winter forced sharp changes in geography. He crawled slowly down the edges until he could crouch precariously at the edge of the pool, cupping water and sipping, wincing as the icy water cut down his throat and settled heavy in his empty stomach. Days of eating well in St. North's camp had chipped away at years of going without more often than not and Jack felt the hunger pangs more than normal.

When his stomach bulged with water and his mind had been tricked into thinking he was full, the hunger flowing away for the time being, Jack looked down at his image. Blue eyes and white hair reflected back at him and Jack glared at himself. A ripple passed over the water and his reflection shifted. Jack sat back in surprise, but curiosity kept his eyes glued to the pond.

In the wake of the ripple, the image of a strange blonde man, round faced with kind amber eyes and freckles painting his cheeks and nose appeared. Jack felt the same painful familiarity with this strange face that he felt with St. North.

"Jack," the image spoke and the voice tore at Jack's heart, the voice so soft and understanding.

Jack clutched at his chest, breathing sharply, vision blurring at the edges until all he could see was the man watching him from the water.

"Jack," the reflection repeated, this time more desperately, a hand painted in black splotches reaching out toward him in supplication.

His hand moved even before he was aware of it, hovering over the wavering image of the hand on the surface of the water. Jack hesitated for a moment, until his name passed for a third time from the mouth that was twisted in sorrow instead of smiling like Jack thought it should be. He touched the water and the image scattered, leaving nothing but darkness in the unseen depths of the pool. Jack frowned in disappointment and pulled his hand back.

The water came with it, a long string of inky wet sludge stuck to Jack's palm and stretching back into the water unbroken. Jack wrinkled his nose and shook his hand, flicking his wrist in the hopes that the slime would fall away. Instead it curled further up his hand, rolling over his fingers and toward his wrist. A thrill of fear curled in his gut and he stood, trying to back away, flailing his arm and using his other hand to grab at it.

The black sludge swung around him, attaching itself to his other hand and one of his legs just above the knee. Almost instantly the long, goopy cord connecting him to the pool constricted, pulling him forward and off balance on the small ledge he had climbed down to. His arms windmilled and he dropped his staff, the wood sinking into the pond. Jack's stomach dropped and he dove into the water.

As soon as his body disappeared beneath the surface, the water cleared, splashing as lapping at its confines, clear all the way down to its rocky and cold bottom. It was empty.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. For some odd reason this chapter was like pulling teeth in the dialogue parts. It just didn't want to be written and is mostly just awkward to get through because of that. So my apologies.