Jack gaped at the enormous shadow, his heart pounding in his chest. It was snake-like, rearing up like a cobra ready to strike. The boy couldn't tell if it was thin and wiry or if it had muscles. One moment, there were powerful legs, the next the coiled body was serpentine with no limbs visible. The red eyes were sharper than the angles of a perfectly cut ruby and just as red. There was no mouth visible, but a sibilant hiss sounded from below the eyes.
Jack's hands gripped his staff tightly, and he wondered for the first time if he had any powers when he wasn't on Earth. It was a question he should have asked before boarding the ship. Now he was unsure if he was helpless in front of this terrible shadow-being. It wavered and flickered, its eyes dispassionately scanning the Guardian's form before turning its burning gaze to Pitch Black.
Pitch stood straight and still as a statue, his body taut as a bowstring. He was positioned half in front of the boy, and Jack couldn't help but wonder why Pitch was protecting him instead of himself while being grateful that Pitch was so considerate. The shadow creature slithered closer, and Pitch stepped back, one arm pressing against Jack's chest to push him back. A pressure in his head appeared, and Jack nearly screamed, but then Pitch's voice echoed through his mind, just like when Shadow Man had threatened him.
"Stay calm, Jack. Can you find your way out of here?"
"No!" Jack thought wildly. "I'll get lost!"
"Then you do what I say. Yes?"
Jack nodded slightly, and Pitch began to walk backward again, guiding Jack with his arm. They began to inch around the creature, which had not spoken since entering the room. Its red eyes followed them, its body shifting between creatures. Snake, wolf, bear, Jack couldn't tell what it was really. Was it a shapeshifter? Or something else?
"I know what you're trying, Prism-boy," the thing finally said, a deep note behind the tone, reminding Jack of a dog with its hackles raised.
"I know you do," Pitch replied, still guiding Jack around the room. The creature didn't move, tracing every movement. "You've been tainted as I have. You know fears and darkness as I do. You know me well."
The creature watched him for a moment then shifted forward. Jack knew it was prepared to strike, and he could feel his muscles tensing, spasming in pain as if he had already been bitten. A choked moan came out of Jack's mouth, and Pitch glanced over. As soon as Pitch's eyes left the shadow, the body seemed to solidify into a giant snake. Pitch expected that, because, in a supernatural show of speed and strength, he heaved Jack over his shoulder and leaped over the head of the creature. As he landed, he threw Jack into the hallway they had come from then spun around.
Jack tumbled head over heels, and he heard the snap of a jaw. Pitch swore, and Jack jumped to his feet, clutching at his staff, and he registered several things with one sweeping glance. Pitch was wielding some sort of shadow sword, the blade gleaming dully in the control room's light. There was a flash of blood, red as the eyes, which flowed from a deep wound in the creature's side. Another substance, strange and shimmering, was splattered over the floor, the light coming from it seeming to dancing with the ecstasy of childhood itself. And Pitch stood there, a hellish look of rage on his face as he stood poised, ready to strike again.
He spoke words in a powerful voice, the language unfamiliar to Jack, but it set his teeth on edge and made his heart tremble in fear and awe. Pitch's eyes shone with their own light, something profound and intangible that Jack had only known in the pale gleam of the moon, and the shadow creature writhed away from him, hissing one moment, growling the next, its body twisting in pain. Pitch advanced on it, still speaking in a powerful voice that contained the high lilt of a child and a deep note of power and authority.
Jack found himself grinning like a fool, his body trembling in joy and elation. He didn't understand the language or the feelings it provoked, but it was freedom! He watched as the creature slunk down the hallway it came from, hurrying away from them. The last gleam of its eyes faded into darkness, and Pitch stopped speaking. A hush fell over the room, and Jack stood there behind Pitch, his big blue eyes wide and full of tears. Joy and sorrow wrestled within him, and he stood there, shaking and grinning and crying, his sparkling teeth bared in a fierce show of emotion.
The sword disappeared from Pitch's hand, and he turned and ran to Jack. He paused for only a moment when he saw the state the boy was in, and a hint of a smile, no, slightly more than that, crossed his grey face, and his eyes sparkled, not with the intense fire of rage, but with delight. It was gone after only a moment, and Pitch grabbed Jack's arm.
"Follow. Quickly. It will not stay down."
They sprinted through the halls, Jack a step behind Pitch, who took corners and practically flew down the hall. Their bodies vibrated from the inhuman speed, and when Pitch opened the entrance they had come through, Jack leaped out, landing so softly that it surprised him. No gravity, he reminded himself, and then Pitch came up, shutting the hatch and tracing some obscure symbol on the top.
"To the ship!" Pitch barked.
The lack of gravity didn't slow Pitch down at all. He shot onto the black ship with control and speed that Jack found to be impossible. He struggled onto the ship, and the bell immediately sounded a loud, crisp note. The boards trembled under Jack's feet and the sudden influx of gravity drove the boy to his knees. He gasped hard, sucking in air that seemed too thin. Jack couldn't calm down. After three minutes, when they were far enough away for Pitch to relax, he left the wheel and came down to see what was wrong. Kneeling down, he tilted his head.
"Jack," Pitch said gently. "Take a deep breath. Slow down. Focus."
Jack shook his head. Pitch clicked his tongue and gathered Jack to his chest. They sat on the deck of the ship as it floated away from the dark moon, and Pitch ran his hands through Jack's white hair. He leaned down and whispered into Jack's ear. Once again, Jack didn't know the language, but in his bones, he heard a command to breathe, to calm down, to rest his weary mind.
The next thing Jack knew, he was below deck, lying in a hammock and staring up at the black ceiling. Blinking, he sat up and waited for his body to protest, but it didn't. He was relaxed and refreshed. He took a deep breath, standing and stretching lazily. Climbing to the deck, he saw that Pitch was sitting on the railing in front of the steering column.
The Nightmare King's long black coat hung over the railing beside him. His undershirt was off, baring his dark grey skin and his masses of scars. He had a knife in his hand, and the same shimmering substance that had stained the floor in the moon gleamed on his arm. It took a moment for Jack to realize what it was.
"You're bleeding," he said softly.
"Mmhm," Pitch replied, digging the knife through the dark cut. A tarry, black liquid bubbled out of the wound, and Jack's stomach clenched uneasily.
"Does it hurt?"
"Numbed it," Pitch said casually. "Come and help me, Frost."
Jack's insides squirmed, but he approached and stood in front of Pitch. The Nightmare King dropped down to the Winter Spirit's level and held out his forearm.
"Grab just below my elbow." Jack did so. "Squeeze as tightly as you can."
Jack obeyed, and the tarry goo gushed out. The boy wanted to throw up, but he didn't let up. Pitch took a strange needle-like tool and slid it deep into the wound. Jack gasped as something thin and slimy came out on the end of the point. Pitch's jaw was set, and Jack heard his teeth gritting together.
"Bandage, Frost," Pitch hissed, gesturing with his eyes.
Jack picked up the white strips and, when Pitch directed him to bandage the wound, he tightly wrapped the man's forearm. The slimy thing lunged forward and bit Jack's wrist. Nauseating pain hit him, and he turned and threw up all over the deck. Pitch jerked the thing back, grabbed the knife again, and slammed it into the part that bit him. It twitched, but instead of blood rushing out of it, it disintegrated into a black powder. Pitch wiped his hands over his dark pants and reached over to steady Jack.
"You'll be fine, Frost. Sit down for a moment."
When Jack's stomach settled, he took a breath and shivered, rubbing his sore wrist. A drop of blue came off on his hand. The thing had made him bleed. Something nudged his shoulder, and he looked up to see a strange mop.
"What?"
"You threw up, you're cleaning it up," Pitch replied. "I have to calculate which way to go anyway."
Jack took the mop, and he began to clean. Pitch leaned over a table, still shirtless. His face was serene. Jack wondered how he could be so calm after pulling that thing out of his arm. What was that thing? And more importantly, did he really want to know? Not right now, he thought. But he did want to know where they were supposed to go.
When the deck was clear, he leaned the mop against the wall and strode over to Pitch. He was staring at a plethora of maps. Jack didn't understand them, but he was fascinated.
"What kind of maps are those?" he asked, hopping onto a spare stool and kneeling down on the balls of his feet.
"Star charts," Pitch replied. "Combined, they're maps that go from one end of the Milky Way galaxy to the other."
"Looks complicated," he said.
"It's not simple," Pitch admitted. "But I could teach you if you'd like."
"Not today," Jack said.
"Hm," Pitch said, straightening up. "I think I know which way to set sail. It's going to be a long trip, Frost. Hope you're up for it."
"Heck yeah," Jack said, grinning.
As his lips curled up, he remembered the last time he'd grinned, and he paused. Pitch reached for his shirt, tugging it over his head. Jack tapped his shoulder lightly.
The Nightmare King turned to look at Jack. "Yes?"
"Um," Jack muttered, his mouth dry. "That language you spokeā¦" he trailed off, unsure of what he was going to say.
Pitch straightened his shirt. "It's a language of power from the Golden Age. Very, very few ever learned it. Even Lunar and Sanderson don't know but one or two words from it."
"Why do you?" Jack asked.
Raising his eyebrows, Pitch shrugged one shoulder. "I don't like to be helpless, Frost. You can understand that, yes?"
Jack searched Pitch's silvery-gold eyes. The man's face was darker, he thought, than it had been before the attack. The thing that had come out on the needle, it was slimy and wriggled, thin enough to go through veins. Jack reached up to touch his stomach, knowing the scar that lay beneath his clothes, so similar to the ones that covered Pitch's skin. He knew then that he had once had one of those things deep inside of him. It made him feel afraid, and he wasn't the only one. The shadows that coated Pitch's face were echoed in his eyes, a vulnerability, a fear of being alone and helpless like he was with Shadow Man, especially when he was a child.
The pale boy nodded. "I understand. Can you teach me?"
Pitch studied him for a moment. "Not yet," he said. "You're not ready for that kind of power."
"You'll teach me when I am?" Jack persisted.
The Nightmare King nodded then climbed over the railing to touch the ship's wheel. He turned it to point toward a cluster of bright stars. Jack stood still for a moment, looking at the man he had fought so many years ago. Even then, there had been something about Pitch that made Jack feel sorry for him. It was that shadow, he thought to himself, that shadow from his abuse and pain. It was never hidden. Pitch wasn't pleased by it, and his shame was a living thing, ever-changing with his moods.
And as Jack watched the tall frame guiding the ship, he couldn't stop thinking about how brave this shadow of a man was. He never hid his pain. He was completely open about his scars, not shying away from Jack's gaze or questions. But it wasn't just that. He didn't let his pain define him. It was the most inspiring thing that Jack had ever known, and he was pleased to be on an adventure with Pitch Black.
