Happy New Year!
I resolve to always have timely updates. Except for when I don't. XD
Hmmmmm nervous as all getout about these next couple chapters. Not super-pleased with them compared to the beginning and ending chapters, as I believe I already said. I'm happier with them now than I was at the last update, but...
May I ask you to please bear with me and that if these chapters are not up to par, I promise they'll get better?
Cos you guys have been lovely as I've said a million times, and I'd be sad to lose your readership over a couple flat chapters. (Of course, whether you do stick around is absolutely your choice and I won't judge you for leaving. Well, maybe a little, cos of course my stuff is the best stuff you've ever read. ;P )
On that note, many thanks for reviews, follows, faves, etc. I apologize that I haven't been very good about responding to reviews the past couple chapters - the emails are still crowding my inbox! Know that I read and appreciate every single one, even if I neglect responding to them.
Okay; that's enough. Let's get on with it, shall we?
The southern winter crawled by at an agonizing rate, and Jack marveled that he managed to wait out the year to that November – he would have liked October, but Samhain had happened once too often in the past, for Jack to be thrilled about jumping the gun before All Saint's Day.
Jack visited the lake first; a sheet of ice spread out from his feet the moment his toes touched the water. Nothing new, but it still elicited an eager grin; just like when he first rose out of the water 251 years ago. His bitterness toward the Man in the Moon often abated a little whenever he remembered that night. The Moon had taken his first fears away just by looking on him; and he gave him his name, after all. There was nothing bad about that, really.
Jack looked up to the clean sky, a deep autumn blue. The sun glared down, bouncing off the expanding ice. It felt warm on his skin – the comforting sort that radiated in the absence of a chill breeze. This sort of sun Jack didn't particularly mind. But he thought he might call in some cloud cover before long.
A thin, splintery pane of ice now coated the lake surface. Satisfied with that as the first hint of winter's arrival, Jack jumped onto the Wind again and it carried him to a house they remembered well. Chuckling in his excited anticipation – he couldn't wait to see how Violet Parr had grown! – he circled the whole property before alighting in the back yard. He remembered which window was Violet's on sight and snuck up on it; he wanted to catch her by surprise as much as possible – she had to be expecting him somewhere in the back of her mind, after all. Once he reached the window he surreptitiously peeked into the spaces between the drawn blinds – and froze on the spot.
Band posters covered the walls and a tall, gangly boy with russet hair tuned a bass guitar with finesse.
Jack stumbled away from the window, breath knocked out of him.
Didn't- But- This was the right house! He knew it was. The color was right, the trees in the yard; even the plank swing was still there. Maybe it was just...
He looked again. A younger boy, around ten, had come into the room and set to pestering his big brother.
Heart sinking fast enough to choke, Jack flew to the sliding back door. A petite blonde woman with a careworn face stirred something in a large soup pot. She was close enough he could readily see she had no wedding ring. A single mother. He grimaced. A completely new family to the town of Burgess.
A horrible dampness filled his stomach and he thought he might be sick.
Violet's not here.
His windpipe turned to stone; he gagged on the sensation and frost particles spidered erratically across the window. Pressing a hand into his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in months; there was nothing to bring up. Not since that small spoonful of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup.
"Oh my God," he uttered, eyes panic-wide. Violet was waiting for him, somewhere. He'd promised to come back, and she was waiting for him, and he had no idea where she was or if he'd even be able to find her again.
The continental United States alone had thousands of elementary schools, millions of kids.
(And how could he be sure that they were even still in the country?)
The more his mind raced through all the reasons it was impossible to see her again, the sicker he felt. His breath came faster and more frost spiked out of his fingers.
No! He stamped his staff on the porch and ice bolted over the planks. Jack Frost had gone for far too long without believers to let his first one fall through his fingers so easily.
He leapt to the roof, glaring defiantly at the Moon, though it couldn't be seen. "Where is she?" he demanded. Silence. Jack pounded the tiles. "You tell me where she is, right now!" he screamed so hard his voice cracked. Still, over his heavy breathing, there was nothing. The lump in his throat grew too big to shout anymore and he had to crouch down and cry – just for a minute. And he pleaded, softly and broken as a prayer. "You cannot just give me... give me her for two days and then take her away again. What kind of god are you?" he yelled, standing again. Still the Moon, hidden by daylight, remained impassive to his anguish. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Just like always.
Cold fury blasted through him and he steeled his gaze against the Moon now. "Fine, then." He brandished his staff at the sky as if to challenge the Man in the Moon. "If you're not going to tell me, I will find her myself. See if I need you at all. Cos I don't." And he turned his back, sliding down onto a breeze that carried him through the streets, gales that took him across counties and swept him over the country.
Everywhere that winter he kept an eye out for every little girl with black hair. But it was never Violet. It just never was.
She seemed to have vanished, completely.
–
The seasonals ran on a tight schedule. No one knew that better than the spirits guarding the thresholds between the seasons, the ones who at once governed and were subjected to the wills of the beings on either side.
The clashes between winter and spring, in particular, often turned foul. Beau knew that. He looked up through the ceiling of his subterranean base to the lightening sky. A frown curled around his large front teeth. He wasn't always the famed Punxetawney Phil worshiped on the one day he mattered. He was once as humble a groundhog as any – just digging his tunnels and minding his business.
And then that Frost kid came along and hoo-wee. Manny decided someone needed to keep Aster's ears from working into knots over spring's due dates, and didn't Beau just happen to fit the job?
Couldn't Manny have just paddled the kid and told him he needed to lay off the white stuff starting on such and such a day?
But after swapping yarns with Samhain, well, it turned out none of the seasonal spirits could quite keep a handle on whose turn it was. And again, that Frost kid seemed to be at the center of it.
Oh, the boy was nice enough, Beau conceded. Manny could certainly have done worse. But he was a kid, impulsive and self-centered. He preferred to tease over the rules rather than cooperate. So it came to Beau, that he should decide for Aster's sake (or something) how much time Jack Frost had left to wreak havoc before he needed to pack up for another summer abroad.
Today was the day. Beau disliked still doing this just the one day, but it was better than having to go topside year-round. Poke his head out, be blinded by the sun for a few seconds, go back down where it was dark and decent. Heaving a sigh, he muttered, "Alright, General; let's get this over with."
The surface air hit him with a deep chill and he bristled his fur to trap heat. The sun shone brightly overhead and he gnawed his lip grimly. Aster wouldn't be happy – he never was. And sure enough, when Beau looked down at the rimy grass, he saw his shadow. Something settled unpleasantly in his stomach that felt like a preemptive response to Aster's displeasure. He pushed it down; there was no new curse the rabbit could utter at him. Beau saw his shadow clear as crystal, and that was that.
Although he was technically only on duty one day a year, Beau occasionally peeked out of his tunnel once in a while during the following weeks to make sure his message had been received. Frost usually had a field day if he could irritate Aster with dustings of snow as Easter approached. So when March came into sight and only bitter cold and no more ice than the persistent crust on the ground had appeared at Beau's doorstep, he accepted that it was time to stop ignoring the niggling feeling that something was very wrong with this winter.
Beau found Jack Frost at the edge of Burgess Lake, the frozen water steel-grey and too rough for skating. Snow piled high around them here, but it was far from the enticing powder the young spirit usually brought; it was glassy and unforgivingly hard, more like opaque ice. Beau pierced a bulb of packed snow with a claw. It chipped with a high complaint, like nails on a chalkboard. A pall of dread bristled his fur worse than the ambient cold; this was Old Man Winter's snow – Frost didn't have anything to do with this.
Frost lounged on a fallen half-rotten log, the deteriorating wood encased in glass-smooth ice. He pitched snowballs at nearby trees, their hollow impacts strangely muffled. They seemed completely alone here.
"Kid," Beau cleared his throat. Frost barely jumped. Slowly, he pushed himself upright and craned his neck around. Beau shuffled forward, crossing his forelegs. "Listen; we don't need to have this conversation again, do we? So I'm not listening to anything about how you don't have to obey if you don't want to, because we both know you need to follow the rules." He settled back and rethought his argument. "Look, it doesn't make a lick of difference to me who keeps winter cold. And technically no one's breaking the contract here. But you've never been one to let Old Man Winter have all the fun."
That old fogey doesn't even know what fun is, Frost should have said. But the kid just jerked one shoulder in a way that could have been a nonverbal response or a mere muscle spasm. "Are you listening to me?" After a long pause, Frost nodded. Beau echoed the movement, discontent eating quickly at his impassive demeanor. As little as he saw the kid, it didn't take a familiar to see that something just wasn't right. "Frost," Beau said slowly, "Have you made any snow this season?" Every time Beau had peered out of his tunnels, he had only ever seen the harsh cold snow of Winter. Never Frost's fine, malleable powder that lent itself so nicely to snowmen and sledding.
Frost only turned away, and that alone said enough. "Well, why not? You sick or something?" Frost twitched. Beau set his jaw and marched up to the young winter sprite sulking on the log. He cleared his throat and rapped on the log irritably, not tall enough to reach the boy's head. "Look, I couldn't care less what you got going on the rest of the year, but right now you've got a job to do, and I know you ain't been doing it. So either tell me and get it off your chest if it'll make you shift, or suck it up and get on with it."
Frost mumbled something. "Didn't catch that. You gonna cooperate, here?"
"I couldn't find… her," Frost said, gesturing uselessly. Maybe he was repeating, or just talking to himself. Didn't matter.
Frowning, Beau set his forepaws on his hips. "I'll bite; who's 'her?'"
"Violet. She… she moved. I couldn't find her…"
Patchy as it was, Beau figured he had enough he could build a decent picture of things from there. "And so now you've given up on life cos you can't find a girl? Geez, kid, you gotta leave the drama at the door; you know the gig don't work like that. You wanna know how long Winter's been chasing after Mother Nature and he still puts in a full season's work?"
"Leave me alone," Frost snapped, rolling off the log onto his feet.
Beau lost his patience. "Forget about her!" Though he looked stunned, even a little hurt at the Groundhog's vehemence, Frost did not flee onto the wind as expected. "Obviously," Beau carried on, "it doesn't do you any good to fixate on how you lost her, however you did that. Cos you know what really happens when you do that? Old Man Winter gets free reign and all the kids know is frozen pipes, power outages, and so many widow-makers Mom and Dad won't let Susie and Billy out to play at all. And then they hate me if I predict six more weeks of winter; I take the fall. And I like to believe you're not as selfish as Bunnymund thinks you are, but don't you dare tempt me to change my mind."
"Thanks for being so understanding; you're a real humanitarian," Jack groused, expression darkening. But at least he wasn't pouting, and maybe that meant he'd get his rear in gear and not throw off the whole calendar again. He'd even twitched at the thought of kids not getting to play in the snow.
"I'm not. I'm the Groundhog. You gonna do your job, now, or what?"
The look the kid threw him was less than respectful, but he nodded shortly and took off on the Wind at last. A few minutes later the smallest bits of cottony snow landed on Beau's fur. The temperature eased just enough to keep the snow from falling as ice. Beau shook out his fur in a little show of self-satisfaction.
"That's more like it," he muttered, making his way back to his tunnel. "Don't let that happen again!" he barked skyward; and he dove back into his cozy underground.
Jack scowled at the admonishment. Beau was kept alive by ancient beliefs and tradition. There were places where adult statisticians ran analyses of the Groundhog's accuracy. Adults continued believing in the viability of his predictions, not merely children. The Groundhog had freaking tenure. If he lost a believer now and then it barely made a dent in his vast reservoir of devotees.
Nope; Beau couldn't possibly understand what he was going through. None of them would.
Jack continued to scatter snowflakes over the Eastern United States. To show Beau that yes, Jack Frost knew the natural order. But his heart wasn't in it at all. He preferred the solitude of his lake, right now. The Wind had no appeal in itself, much less soaring upon it. No meaningful laughter found its way out of his throat and he could barely find energy to join the children in their play. With belief gone as easily as it had come, somehow nothing felt right at all.
With a fine layer of sparkling snow finally settled over much of the continent, Jack halted. He couldn't help keeping an eye for little Violet Parr the entire time, as hopeless (pointless) as the exercise had proven to be. Force of habit. Last dregs of a foolish hope.
"She's gone, Jack," he hissed at himself for not the first time that year. He dropped into a powdery forest clearing. Night had fallen and the Moon cast a haunting silver light upon him where he stood. The scant snow glittered around him on the grass and the tree branches. He felt watched and he cast jaded eyes up to the Moon. "What's the big idea? Can't you let me be all alone in peace?"
No answer, of course. As always, talking to the Moon was like talking to a wall. "Send the Groundhog to bully me, will you?" He tamped the ground with the butt of his staff. Snow packed into almost-ice under the driving blows. Like Winter's. Jack grimaced harder. "She's gone," he solemnly admitted aloud, with the most resignation he had ever allowed in voicing the thought – the reality. What he expected in response, he had no idea. But the Moon's light seemed to soften somehow, as if maybe the Man in the Moon sympathized with Jack Frost's plight after all.
"So fix it, then," he growled, knowing it was for naught. The Man in the Moon couldn't bring Violet back to him any more than Jack could make another child see him…
"Fine. Okay." Jack faced the Moon directly, for the first time in months. "I get it. Jack Frost can't have nice things. Next time, just tell me directly instead of screwing me over like this, okay?" It wasn't worth waiting for any reply, so he just spun and took off for Europe. Forget Violet Parr, the crueler parts of his mind ordered. She's gone forever. You had your chance and you blew it; this is your cross. So suck it up, and carry on.
Fine, then, Jack decided. I will.
After winter officially ended in the north and Jack had to fly south again, he stopped once more at his lake and studied his faint reflection in the ice. He looked weary; he actually looked old; he'd run himself ragged, always insisting despite himself on scouring every elementary school, every neighborhood park, for Violet.
He called an image of her face out of ice particles, to make sure he still remembered it. Looking at it for long, though, made him too sad. The image dissolved the moment he released it. Somehow he thought the Man in the Moon ought to have something to say for himself now, but as always he was quiet. Unhelpful. Uncaring.
Jack refused to give up his search. But he couldn't go on like this for much longer. He was forced to admit he needed to stop.
Burgess – lots of places – hadn't had a good winter, because of this.
He'd failed the kids.
That hurt almost as much as losing Violet.
Jack didn't want to do that to them again.
He wanted to keep an eye out, still; but he wouldn't obsess. Violet was out there somewhere, waiting for him to come back to her.
"Please don't forget about me!"
Never. Not for one second, he wouldn't.
Couple things:
*It felt way too easy to call the Groundhog "Phil." And seeing as we already have a Yeti with the same name, I didn't particularly want to use it. He's called General Beauregard Lee in Georgia, and his accuracy is said to rival if not exceed Punxetawney Phil's. He wasn't in the original draft, but I tried writing a "deleted scene" with him and I liked the character I came up with, so now he's officially in the story (obviously). I think of him as a combination of Mr. Resetti (Animal Crossing) and the GM where I work.
*Samhain is, if I recall correctly, a Celtic festival that marks the end of the harvest season (fall) and signals the beginning of winter. I've seen Samhain as a character representing the autumn season in other RotG works, but since he really has the one day attributed rather than a whole season, I made him the autumn-winter version of the Groundhog. Because I can.
*If you're a little lost on Old Man Winter vs. Jack Frost re: winter... Basically, I'm BS-ing. I know I've presented a ridiculously simplified account of how it all works buuuuut it's not terrifically important to the story beyond its face value. BASICALLY, how I tried to present it here: OMW basically brings the winter that adults fear and dread - power outages, treacherous driving conditions, water damage from melting snow, collapsed roofs, etc. Jack Frost brings winter the way kids see it - sledding, ice skating, snowball fights, and the perfect snow to do so. They typically work in tandem through the winter, one occasionally having dominance over the other (that's why miserable winters happen for some areas); if Jack's not doing squat, then kids cry. Basically. Like I already said, I know this is stupidly simple; just go with it. It'll be okay.
THAT said, before I go: my US readers (and other readers) caught in the deep freeze - PLEASE be safe in this crazy winter weather you're having. Stay warm, stay dry, don't go anywhere that you don't absolutely have to, and always have a buddy and a charged cell phone if you do go anywhere.
Take care, everyone!