The next time Jack woke, he was surprised to find himself within a cave lit by a small floating sun that emitted no heat. Groggily, he sat up and examined himself. He was drenched in sweat and had a headache that pulsed behind his eyes. In the dim light, he could make out ugly bruises blooming across his arms through the tattered remains of his clothes.
"You wake," said a voice from across the room that sounded neither male nor female, "Winter steward, it is good that you woke. I was beginning to think you had melted."
"Mother Nature?" Jack groaned. A slow, husky laugh floated to him.
"No," the voice replied, "I have been called many things, but that one is a first. You may call me Anyan and I am Summer. You are not well. Do you remember anything?" The floating sun floated to the voice's owner and illuminated his face, which was dark skinned, angled and feminine. Anyan sat cross legged on the cave floor, his bare feet resting on his knees. He was bare except for a loincloth made of what looked like simple wool. His face bore an enigmatic expression because his eyes stayed closed even as he talked and the tilt of his head was owlish like Mother Nature's.
Jack swallowed and responded in a hoarse voice. "I was flying, trying to get away from the cold."
"That was foolish of you, Winter," Anyan replied, the slope of his slender eyebrows sad, "You endangered yourself by coming to this place where your kind of Winter never comes. I sense that you did it on purpose, trying to bring an end. Might I ask why?" The spirit of Summer was blunt.
"I killed somebody. Well, not on purpose. I tried to get her to get away from the storm, but she died anyway. It was my fault. Me. She was a child." He was rambling, the fever affecting his speech, making them a tumble of words spilling out of his mouth. "I didn't want to hurt people anymore."
Anyan tilted his head back contemplatively and then spoke again, this time in a quiet mumble that came across as slightly angry. "I fail to see how it was your fault. You, Winter, were bringing the cold that is your jurisdiction and a child failed to take shelter. You, Winter, blame yourself for the incapability of humans and attempted to end your life." Jack blinked, hard, and couldn't find the words to answer. Anyan's face softened and he continued. "You are a new spirit, the first embodiment of Winter since the last one died. I have seen many like you who could not sustain themselves for very long, most of whom ended themselves like you wanted to do. They were not true Winter and succumbed, but you, I sense, are the first to be loved by Winter and will not succumb."
Shocked, Jack asked, "How many others were there? How am I loved by Winter? What does that even mean?"
Anyan held up a hand to silence his questions. "Calm. Since I came to be when mankind first dreamed, I have seen Winter spirits come and go. There are too many for me to list. As I said, they were born of mankind's hatred of the cold, not as true spirits of Winter, but as beings attributed to the seasons. They lived on belief that originated in fear and died because they could not bear to receive such hatred. Unlike they, who existed as a consequence of Winter, you are the true embodiment of Winter, the vessel that Earth trusted to keep the season and the being Winter grew to love, allowing you access to its powers. All that you know is the collective unconscious of Winter and your soul is inexorably tied to the season. You hold great responsibility, Winter. Without your efforts, Winter would be much worse for the humans. While it is undeniable that Winter kills more people than my season or the rest, it is perhaps the most important and the hardest to control."
Jack, too tired to think on any of this, nodded and tried to speak, his voice coming and going as his throat protested. "I understand that. It's just been...so hard. Since I died, I haven't been able to shake my old life. I remember what it was like to be cold and hungry. To know that I inflict such pain is difficult to handle.
"You mustn't think like this, Winter. You only do what is asked of you by Winter. It is part of the natural order of things. To change anything that must be done would do more harm than good. I do not understand your attachment to your human life. You are very unusual in that you were once human. Autumn, Spring, and I were born of Mother Nature's body and thus lived our entire existences as immortals. I think you would do well to forget being human and start thinking as an immortal. Mortal lives are brief like candle flames. We burn for much longer like starlight."
Jack knew he could never forget being human, not completely. He'd known too many human emotions and couldn't let it go. His headache suddenly reached a new plateau of pain and he hissed, pinching his eyes tightly shut.
"Forgive me, Winter," Anyan said, getting up and extinguishing the light, "I confess I talk too much. I have not spoken with another in many a decade. Though I cannot touch you for fear of hurting you because of our opposing natures, I think the winds might be generous enough to carry you." Sure enough, the winds picked him up gingerly and he floated with Anyan out of the cave and into the air. Anyan revealed a pair of large wings like an eagle's and flew fast, calling out behind him "Follow. I can take you to a place where you can rest. Someone there will know how to take care of you, help heal you." They flew swiftly north with dawn close at their backs, chasing the cool shelter of darkness until they reached a dense forest in Siberia. They touched down and Anyan suddenly took off, yelling, "Someone will find you here. I cannot stay, for it is yet Winter here. Rest and be well, Winter. I am glad to have met you."
"My name is Jack!" He yelled in response, and then he was gone, phased into the wind just as Mother Nature had done. Jack made a mental note to learn how to do that. Still tired and still feeling that painful lump by his heart, he stood up and hobbled around, wanting to do something other than lay helplessly in the snow. After a few minutes, he ran race to face into a strange spirit in the shape of a woman clothed in precious gems with limbs made of gnarled wood. He yelped and stumbled, landing on his butt.
"Uh, hi, I'm Jack Frost. I was told someone here could help me." The woman stared at him with big, black eyes suspiciously and held out her hands. Gold coins flowed from her palms.
"What? No, no. I'm not looking for money. I-I…" Looking into her face, he thought he saw the dead girl in the reflective pools of her eyes and the grief and the pain of his injuries caught up with him, causing a sob to come out instead of words. Startled, the woman stepped back like a surprised dog. The gold disappeared and her expression turned worried. A tendril of something reached into Jacks mind and he could feel the forest spirit wriggle her way in, looking for something. Child. Immortal. PAIN. Panic panic panic, her thoughts seemed to say. Flailing a bit, the woman scooped Jack into her arms and started off deeper into the forest. Jack, jostled by her movements, mercifully passed out.
When he next woke, Jack was in a soft bed in a softly lit room with the window open. He was relieved to see that his staff was still clutched in his hand, but disconcerted at the bandages that covered his torso and the unfamiliar clothing he was in. A giant caterpillar with a small head and tiny eyes sat in a chair by his bed chewing on a book. Jack thought he might be hallucinating. "Oh my!" the man squeaked, "You're awake. Oh good, good. I'm Mr. Qwerty. No, don't speak young man, it's quite alright. I'll get Ombric. Hold on a second. No, don't move." He scuttled off on many legs. Alone, Jack suddenly had the urge, the burning need, to be outside in the snow he could sense was just behind the wooden walls of the room he was in. Gingerly stepping out of bed, he hobbled his way over to the open, rounded window with the help of his staff and tried to climb out. He ended up stuck halfway over, bent in half and hanging like a stocking on a clothes line. He saw at once that he was in a tree, high up in the air. The chill air helped him and he gulped lungfuls of the stuff, regaining his connection to the winds. They swirled around him, relieved at his return to them and assured him that all would be well. Winter would wait for him to heal.
"Oh goodness, my young man," a gravely voice said behind him, "What a position to be in! Is that comfortable? No, of course not. Let me help you." He was hoisted into assuring arms and laid back into bed. His savior was a tall old man with a magnificent beard and a cheerful face. "My name is Ombric and you are in Big Root, my home. My lady of the forest found you and brought you here."
"T-thanks," Jack bit out through the pain of his injuries. After he caught his breath, he began again. "Sorry, thank you for your help. I'm Jack Frost-er-Steward of Winter."
"So it is true what the butterflies tell me! A true Winter spirit has arrived. But you are yet young! How did you come to be so injured? You are covered in burns and bruises, most uncommon for Winter spirits."
"I landed badly in a desert and I guess the sun did a number on me," Jack explained half heartedly, "The spirit of Summer brought me here."
Ombric laughed and slapped his hand on his knee, "Anyan! That bugger hasn't come to visit me in over fifty years. He should have at least said hello. If you are Winter, why were you caught in summer's domain? A desert, no less?" Jack had no answer for him. He was ashamed. Ombric nodded as if in understanding. "Alright, if that is what you wish. I will not pry. However, you must eat! I know you spirits don't usually take food, but you are injured. Food and good rest will bring you back to health." With another warm laugh, he waved to the open door and a bear of all things lumbered in with a wooden tray laden with cold soup and thick slices of bread. Jack took the food gratefully and fell asleep again to the sound of Ombric telling him all about the nuances of stick bug speech.
Jack's recovery was swift and he found Ombric to be a welcome presence. Neither of them pried too deep and had comfortable conversations about Jack's powers and Big Root, settling into a contented rhythm. After all, there was no need to force things between new acquaintances. Ombric was especially interested in weather systems and the collective unconscious of Winter that Jack possessed.
"So it is true! You are tied very closely to the essence of cold itself and instinctually know your duty. Thank you for confirming this for me. It is very difficult to meet winter spirits because they die so quickly." Ombric scratched his beard appreciatively.
"Yeah, Anyan told me I was the first to be loved by Winter. I'm still not sure what that means.I get a lot of help from the winds, though. They feed information into my head and I just kind of go from there."
"The winds! They're sentient? You communicate with them? Of course! Anyan has left out many things in our talks. I will have to pick his brain the next time I see him."
"Well, Anyan seems like a strange person. He seems to latch onto something and forget what he's even doing. He speaks so fast, I don't even think he breathes!"
"Well technically, he doesn't. None of the seasonal spirits do, you see." Jack looked surprised. "You didn't know? Seasonal spirits are embodiments of their seasons and retain but the appearance of mortals. They are anthropomorphized versions of vastly powerful forces of nature, and consequently, do not require the normal things needed by mortals to survive. You, for instance, would not need food if not for your injuries."
Experimentally, Jack stopped breathing and found that it was true. He felt no perceivable change in his body, no painful burning in his chest. "You know, I really wish someone would just tell me these things."
"Ohoho, that would ruin the thrill of exploration, my friend!" Friend. Throughout this ordeal, Jack realized he'd made a few friends-his first since he became a spirit. If he counted the winds, he'd made at least five or six, including the great bears living in Big Root he'd started calling Mr. B, much to Ombric's amusement. Mr. B was a no-nonsense nurse, changing his dressings with the speed and efficiency of a well practiced hand. The Lady of the Forest even came by to check on him in the few weeks he'd been bedridden. She'd been apologetic, projecting the thoughts, I'm sorry I almost turned you to stone. Mr. Qwerty also came by many times to keep him company, offering to show him how to read.
"Young man, you can't read?! I'm aware the new world is yet undeveloped at this point in time, but not knowing your letters is absurd. Come, come, it will take some time, but I will have you literate in no time!" Jack found himself in possession of a slate and a piece of chalk and a wealth of books stacked by his bed. It was slow going and English was tough, but he could write his name in a week and read his first few sentences after a month.
The day came that he could finally stand and it was the happiest he'd been in days. His muscles needed some encouragement, but he stood determinedly while Ombric, Mr/ B, and Mr. Qwerty looked on. He took a few shaky steps on atrophied legs, but stayed upright and smiled triumphantly at his new friends.
"Congratulations, Jack!" Ombric laughed and patted him across the shoulders, "Now that you are better, you must meet the rest of my village."
"There's more of you? How?"
"Big Root is the center of my village, protecting the dreams of its inhabitants. Ever wonder why we are in a tree? It grew on soil imbued with stardust that magically shielded us from all evil. We settled here when man first began to dream and have been here ever since." Ombric led Jack down a spiral staircase grown from inside the tree and opened the main door. "This," he said, gesturing to the tiny collection of huts made from the caverns of Big Root's roots, "is Santoff Claussen, the place of dreams." Already, little people dressed in warm furs stopped in their activities and rushed up to them, shouting warm greetings. They were a happy people who didn't seem to care that Jack was a stranger. The children were exceptionally welcoming, shaking Jack's hands and then throwing themselves at him. Laden with warm hugs, Jack was very, very happy.
"H-how is it that any of them see me?"
"Spirits are invisible if the observer's mind has been closed to belief. You are a new spirit without very many believers. These villagers believe everything magical that walks in. They recognize the importance of immortal beings, for every immortal plays an important role in helping the world function." Ombric picked up a child and set him on Jack's shoulders. "Belief gives most immortals strength. You and the other seasonal spirits are exceptions because you subsist off of the planet's natural forces, but all who exist in the realm of magic and dreams may benefit from the power of belief."
Ombric was right again. Jack felt his body tingle from within his heart and he felt giddy with his newly found strength. He played with the children until the sun set, building them great snowy forts and decorating the village with snowdrops and fresh powder. After many snowball fights concluded and many snowmen were built, the children retired and Jack watched them go, a pang of grief suddenly taking hold of his heart. He had missed this, missed playing, missed being surrounded by this much love, missed being human. Though he claimed to refuse to forget his human life, he'd spent-oh God, he didn't even know how long- being a spirit, wholly devoted to his duty. As he sat cross-legged in the snow thinking about these things, Ombric padded by and settled on an invisible platform conjured from thin air.
"Thank you, my friend, for this gift."
Puzzled, Jack asked, "What gift?"
"Why, the gift of laughter. Your snow brought great happiness to the children. We have not seen such magical snow in some time."
"Oh...you're welcome. It isn't much, but I wanted to make them happy."
After a moment of silence during which the moon peaked out from the clouds and, reflected against the gleaming snow, lit up the clearing. "So, Jack, would you let this old man know why it is you tried to hurt yourself in the desert?"
"I...yes. I'm ready." He told Ombric everything because he felt that he could trust this man, who'd been much like his father in his time of need. Ombric said nothing, only nodding and looked quite somber, patiently waiting for Jack to finish speaking. At last he spoke. "I am very sorry for your pain, Jack. It is quite true, what Anyan said about Winter spirits. The cold is not usually hospitable to life and love, often chasing them out as part of its nature. Many have done what you did and succeeded in ending themselves," he sighed, "It is quite tragic. Mother nature, though she is a blessed soul, does not always understand these things and can do little to heal wounds of the heart and mind. She has lived for a long time and loses her grasp of these things. Your predecessors failed in their duties because they knew only the cold death of winter from the moment they were born and felt the void that love should have filled in their hearts. The moon was wise to choose you, who'd lived surrounded by warmth, whose heart would never forget humanity." He unfolded from his pose and beckoned for Jack to follow. He led Jack into the forest and swept his staff in an arch on the ground, revealing tiny seedlings.
"You see these? What do you think? Do you see why Winter is conducive to life?" Jack shrugged and shook his head. Ombric continued. "Winter signals most plants to lay dormant for a while and save up some energy so that when Spring comes, they can burst and flower. They would die without a natural Winter. You do that for them. See this? This is life, that which you thought you could only take away." He gestured to the dead shrubs around him. "However, death, too, is necessary to keeping the world at balance. Some plants require the cold of Winter to complete their life cycles and die, allowing new things to grow in their place. If humans die, it is a result of incompetence and lack of survival instincts. The girl who died did not respect the season. Most mortals know the importance of Winter and recognize it to be the precursor to Spring. Your season is a thing of beauty to the people and represents rest and rebirth."
Taken aback, Jack blinked away salty tears and nodded in understanding, accepting Ombric's embrace. "Yes, you can let go of that grief that's building up inside you," Ombric hummed as Jack sobbed into his robes, "It is not good to keep such deteriorating sadness locked away. You have to let it go and accept it." Jack could only nod.