Took a short break on this story for a while. I'm back now, though.
Pitch was suddenly aware, and for a few moments, he was confused as to what had just happened. Blinking up at the dark ceiling, he tried to remember what he'd been doing, then he realized he was lying in a hammock below deck. It took another minute of thinking before he came to the conclusion that he'd actually slept. He couldn't remember the last time he'd dared to sleep. And yet it had been a smooth sleep, undisturbed by memories and nightmares.
It was nice, he decided, to lay beneath the warm blanket and laze about, so for a few minutes, he let his mind drift here and there, not stopping on any definite thought. As his thoughts wandered, his mind went back to a familiar face. Anthea's young, fair visage passed through his mind. Had she visited him again? He usually didn't think about her unless she had. Perhaps she'd visited his dreams, frolicking in the fields that she had known while alive.
His pleasant musing was cut short by a violent jolt. The ship groaned, and Pitch was nearly thrown out of the hammock. Muttering a curse under his breath, he waited for the swaying to stop then heaved himself out of the makeshift bed. It had been nice while it lasted.
As he easily picked his way through the crates and supplies in the dark, the memory of what he was doing slammed into him.
Panic clutched at his heart as he scrambled to the deck. He had defeated the Void Serpent, but worse was out there, and what if Jack and Nightlight had just hit the next obstacle? And here he was sleeping with the two boys in danger! What had caused him to sleep? It was foolish for him to sleep anyway, what with Shadow Man's grip on his soul. The last time he'd slept had ended in disaster for more than just himself.
Shoving the hatch open, he emerged from the darkness of the hold. With a practiced eye, he swept his gaze across the whole length of the ship to find out what had happened. Jack was clutching the wheel, shouting up at Nightlight.
"No, you're other left!"
"There is only one left," Nightlight replied from the rigging. He had a smile on his face even as he turned to his left and untangled the ropes. "You're the one who hit the stupid thing, Jack."
"It came out of nowhere, Nightlight!" Jack argued.
"How? We are in space. Things don't 'come out of nowhere.' That only applies with gravity."
Jack was about to snap back when he glanced around and saw Pitch. "Oh! Darn! We woke him up!"
Nightlight glanced down as he finished with the ropes then leaped down with nimble grace. "Good morrow, Prism. How did you sleep?"
Pitch couldn't stop the horrified question that leaped from his lips. "Why was I asleep?" he demanded hoarsely.
The tone in his voice made both boys tense, and Nightlight frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"
Pitch swallowed, passing a hand over his eyes. "It…it can be," he whispered. He tried to change the subject. "What did we hit?"
"Hunk of rock or something," Jack said. He locked the steering column and hopped the railing to the deck. "Why is sleeping bad? I mean, I know you don't sleep much. I've never seen you do it, at least, but sleep is good for you, right?"
"For me?" Pitch asked, shifting his weight. "No, Frost. Sleep is not good for me."
"Why not?" Jack asked, leaning against the wall of the cabin.
Pitch gritted his teeth then let out a breath. "The last time I fell asleep, Frost, Shadow Man took control of me, forced me to learn how to transform dreamsand into nightmare dust, created a creature from that dust, and used me to try and destroy the hopes and dreams of children all over Earth."
Whatever Jack and Nightlight thought his answer would be, that was not it. Jack's blue eyes widened, and he stiffened, his pale face turning almost as white as his hair as the blood drained from it. Nightlight, who had heard Jack speak of what had happened with Pitch and the Night Mares off and on for over a week, pressed his thin lips together and crossed his arms.
"So we made a mistake sending you to sleep," Nightlight said.
"But the girl told us to," Jack argued. "And nothing bad happened."
Pitch blinked. "Girl?" He paused and the familiar golden face appeared before his mind's eye. "Anthea? She was here?"
Jack turned back to him. "You don't remember?"
The man shook his head. "No. I don't. She appeared?"
"Yeah. She told us to use the dreamsand to put you to sleep," Jack said.
Pitch snorted. "There was no dreamsand left. Nightlight used the last of it last week."
"No, there was dreamsand," Jack said.
There was a pause, then a hint of a smile played around Pitch's lips. "That's why I wasn't taken over. She watched over me."
"Who is Anthea?" Nightlight asked.
"An Earthling," Pitch said shortly.
"I've never seen a human all shimmery like she was," Jack said. "And she disappeared after you said something about a promise. No human can do that."
"No. A living human can't do that unless Lunar interferes," Pitch said. He walked up the steps to the wheel as Jack's mouth fell open.
"Wait…" he said, unsure. "So she's…"
"Dead," Pitch affirmed.
"She was a child," Nightlight said.
"She never grew up," Jack surmised.
"No," Pitch replied.
Nightlight bit his bottom lip then sat down, staring expectantly at Pitch. Pitch glanced down as Jack blinked at the light boy. He sighed.
"It's not a pleasant story, Nightlight," he said.
"Story?" Jack asked then flung himself down, his eyes bright and eager. "You're going to tell us a story?"
"I suppose if you insist," Pitch replied, unlocking the wheel. Jack and Nightlight nodded.
Pitch sighed again then, as he began to guide the ship again, spoke in a faraway voice. "After the Moon Clipper had settled around Earth, after Shadow Man caught me and drained me, after I left the moon for Earth to protect Lunar from myself, I was wandering around Earth, admiring how pretty the world is. I ran into a little girl. The grownups couldn't see me, but she could. She liked me and talked to me about the pretty flowers in the field. She told me that her name was Anthea, and she was a beautiful little girl, barely five years old at the time. As she walked away, she left me her flowers.
"I was intrigued and continued to visit her over the next few years, mostly at night to watch over her sleeping form. She was innocence that I did not possess anymore, and I watched her sleep many nights. And I quickly discovered that she was in danger. Her father drank wine. A lot of wine. And if she disobeyed, she was struck. He was not gentle, and every bruise he left on her body made me angry, but I could not touch the man. I was nothing more than smoke to him, an imaginary being that Anthea spoke of, only there in her eyes."
Pitch paused, his face going dark. "One night, it was too much. He hit her so hard that the damage was irreversible. She was lying on the floor, dying, and he left her there for more drink. So I picked her up and carried her away to the fields she loved so much. I was just out of my teens then, not quite as old physically as I am now, but she was almost weightless, as if her spirit were already slipping away. So I settled her amidst the wildflowers as she bled.
"She regained consciousness for about fifteen minutes before she died. She knew I was from the stars, and she asked if that's where she was going to go afterwards. I felt hollow inside, but I smiled at her, which was rare even back then, and I told her that there would be many flowers where she was going. She asked how I knew."
Pitch flinched and closed his eyes. Voices echoed around them, far away in time, a child's wavering voice, growing weaker and weaker, and Pitch's steady, low, soothing tone.
"I just know, Anthea."
"But how? Is this like how grownups know things?"
"No, dear. It's how a child knows things."
"I don't think I know very much. Grownups know everything."
"Well, you know about me. Grownups can't even see me. But you can."
There was a giggle. "Yeah." She paused. "I'll pick some flowers for you, Prism."
"Pick a whole bunch of flowers," he encouraged. "I'll be there one day, too."
"Aren't you afraid?" Anthea asked, her voice growing fainter.
"Of death?" Pitch asked. "No. I've never been afraid of death, Anthea. It's living that's difficult. Death is easy."
"But what's on the other side? Besides flowers."
A vision flashed through the boys' minds, and Pitch leaned down to press a kiss to her pale forehead. Where his lips touched, it shimmered and shone like light on shattered glass. Pitch was so much younger around the eyes, and there was a lightness around him instead of shadows. His skin seemed almost crystalline, and the moonlight that floated down sent a cascade of silvery light that surrounded him, making him look ethereal. His eyes glittered, shifting between gleaming silver and dusky gold. All fear fled from Anthea's young face, and she smiled. Then the light fled from her eyes and she lay still. And Pitch watched her face for a moment then reached up to close her eyes.
The vision faded, and both Jack and Nightlight blinked several times before settling their gazes on Pitch's thin, dark face. Tears gleamed on his cheeks, but he did not look the least bit ashamed. He guided the ship with a practiced hand, and his movements were steady. Nightlight sniffled and wiped his cheeks, and Jack realized that he, too, was crying.
"It is hard to see a child die," Nightlight said.
"Yeah, it is," Jack said, drawing his arm across his face. "I've seen about fifty freeze to death. They go all quiet in the end."
"Death is terrifying," Nightlight said.
"No, Nightlight," Pitch said solemnly. "It is not. Not to me."
"Why not?" Jack asked.
Pitch glanced down, his eyes gleaming just like in the vision. And they understood. It was hard to put into words, but they knew why Pitch didn't fear death. They knew that Pitch had felt death's cold threat many, many times, far more than they had. He did not welcome death, but he would embrace it when his time came. They knew without words that Pitch Black did not long for death, even after his rape, but that dark time had put things into perspective for him. And as if to confirm this, Pitch smiled a real, warm smile.
"Death," he said simply, "is the next great adventure, Jack."
And Jack smiled back, nodding. "I guess you're right. Peter Pan says something like that, too."
Pitch nodded, and his face grew serene again. "I have seen many children die. Thousands. Probably tens of thousands. And not one of them feared death in the end. They went off to the next world with a smile."
"Because of you," Jack said.
Pitch blinked. "What?"
"Because of that look you gave Anthea. That look you gave us," Jack persisted.
Pitch Black looked genuinely puzzled. "I only wished to ease their passing, Frost." He turned the wheel. "And I did nothing myself anyway. I just was there for them."
Jack opened his mouth to argue, but Nightlight pressed two thin fingers to his mouth to silence him. When Jack looked over, the boy of light shook his head and removed his fingers from the cold lips. He flew up to the crow's nest and Jack followed.
"Why'd you stop me?" Jack demanded.
"Now is not the time, Jack," Nightlight replied.
"But you know he can do it, right?"
"Yes," Nightlight said. "But let him be. He is happy right now. He is peaceful now."
"After thinking about Anthea's death?" Jack asked incredulously.
"You know as well as I that death does not frighten him," Nightlight answered. "And perhaps his connection to the dark helps him in this area. Perhaps there is something there that not even the little Lunanoff possesses. Something very precious."
Jack looked down at Pitch, who was steering the ship with ease, his posture relaxed. After a moment, he nodded.
"Just as precious as he is," he mused to himself, unaware that he'd spoken aloud.
Because he knew in his heart that Nightlight was right. There was something precious inside of Pitch, a power that even the Nightmare King himself was unaware that he possessed. And Jack knew it had something to do with that cold, frightening reality that was death itself and how it related to children. If only he knew what it was.
