A little note, about chapter numbers. I get asked for them a lot, so I just wanted to say why I don't include them. I write chapter titles from memory. I don't know what the number is. Usually, I don't have internet access when I write (I wrote this one at the park). To give you the number, I would have to look it up when I submit and I'm no more eager than anyone else to navigate that ridiculous drop-down list. I'm already writing the chapters, I'm leaving that part to you. Also, I've moved chapters around in the past and I don't want to have to change numbers everywhere if I do it again.
With that said, this is a sequel to Children of Winter and Still a Child.
Jack had taken a liking to this country called Russia. Snow came easily, here, an invitation for winter spirits to come and play. To make this place their home. It was conveniently located near North's workshop, so that he only had a short trip to make when coming back from bothering the big man. Or rather, bothering Phil. Jack doubted that North was aware of his attempts. He would need some other way to remind him he existed.
But Phil knew. Jack liked Phil. He was the closest thing he had to a friend. Maybe not the kind of friend you went to when you needed a shoulder to cry on, but a friend nonetheless. He was always where Jack expected him to be when he needed him. A familiar, predictable presence in his life. If he tried to bust into the workshop, he could count on Phil to show up and stop him. Jack needed that.
He still kept an eye out for the young winter sprite he met here years ago, whenever he was in the area. The one Jack had believed might become a real friend. Several times, he visited the spot where the new sprite was born, but he never saw any signs of him. No movements, no suspicious patches of frost. Nothing. He did not think the sprite ever returned. He looked elsewhere, but he could not comb every inch of wilderness searching for a sprite who didn't want to be found.
Jack knew a village hid in a valley not too far ahead. The slow river that crossed the vale froze solid in winter, giving the children easy access to the old evergreen forest on the other side. They loved to play under the tall pine trees, where the ground was covered in frozen needles rather than snow. He would likely find them there.
Instead, he found them screaming on the river itself. The ice, so thick this time of the year, had cracked under their feet. The children did not dare move, for fear that it would break even more and send them in the frozen waters bellow, so they called for help. Someone might hear them, back in the village, but Jack could not wait for a rescue party. He descended upon the river and, with a single strike from his staff, mended the cracks in the ice.
The children looked down, their faces filled with awe. They whispered of miracles. Jack knew better than to hope. No one believed that winter spirits caused miracles. One careful step at a time, they returned to the shore, to run back to their village. All but one. Jack frowned at the winter sprite. The sprite glared back.
"You're going too far, sprite. Take your anger on someone else. They're only children."
The sprite didn't answer. He kept staring at Jack, his icy blue eyes locked with the Spirit of Winter's own. Jack opened his mouth to scold him some more, but only a strangled sound came out.
"Y-you!"
He barely recognized the young sprite. Gone was the innocence, the wide-eyed wonder, the smile. Gone was the crushed look of one whose illusions had just been shattered. Only anger and bitterness remained. Jack had met other sprites like him, but, for the first time, he realized that they had not simply been born that way. That, once, they had been like him.
"Why..."
The sprite's voice was cold and harsh when he answered. He wanted to be acknowledged. Jack winced. It was something he could relate to, but the sprite's methods horrified him. Once, he had scared children when trying to show them he existed. The look on their faces was one he never wanted to see again.
"You're scaring them. You could have killed them." He found no guilt in the sprite's eyes. Only anger and pain. "How could you chose this? I thought... I thought we were alike."
He was afraid to think about this. He could not say it hadn't crossed his mind to try again, after scaring the kids the first time. He thought that, maybe, he could get them to believe that way. They would be terrified of him, but they would see him. He didn't want to scare children, but he so desperately wanted to be believed in that he had considered it. He had wondered if it would be worth it.
But he had promised the Sandman that he would never do it again, and he wasn't going to go back on his word. He tried to convince himself that this wasn't the main thing stopping him. He tried to convince himself that he couldn't possibly turn like the bitter child in front of him, given time. That he was strong enough to go on. He wished he believed it.
"You could have been better! You should have been better!"
Jack didn't know if he was really angry at the sprite or merely afraid. He felt like he was looking in a mirror, at what he might have been, what he could still become. The sprite turned away from him, walking away in the old forest and Jack didn't follow. Didn't dare follow.
Maybe he should pay the workshop another visit.
As you can see, I'm writing new chapters instead of outlining my next arc. So, it might take a while. The good new is, I have two long week-ends coming up. Sure, I have an obligation to get drunk and wave a flag for the FĂȘte Nationale, but I can work on my outline while doing that.
