The Tale Of Jack Frost

Prologue

Prologue

It all began with one of Jack's usual antics. The elaborately carved door, an indication that the house belonged to one of the clan's chiefs; swung inwards with a tired groan. The beams seemed to be creaking in protest as if they knew Jack wasn't supposed to be there long after midnight.

Jack ignored the door. Taking soft steps and staying to the stone walls, he crept into the house, his memory guiding him to the kitchen. The opulence never failed to amaze him whenever he visited a chief's house in his clan. The windowsills carved with clawing figures and vines, the seemingly polished fireplaces, the doors carved with druids and rivers and the long tapestries woven by the women, holding the names of the ancestors that went far back.

But most of all, what interested Jack were the wooden sculptures that-as far as he knew- had no purpose other than to be admired. It was an indulgence most people-and Jack- didn't have. He could see the silhouette of one he liked the most. Jack knew by memory that a fanged creature curled around a huge tree, its horns spearing through the bark and its wings flared high.

Tearing his gaze away from the silhouette, Jack crept into the kitchen section of the huge house, taking care to be extra silent for that was where the thralls slept. He could hear the soft snorts of one of their children and more than a few snores.

The next day-or rather today if it were after midnight, was the winter solstice-the day the Oak King's reign ended and the Holly King's began. Sacrifices and games would be held in honor of this transition and to ensure that the King graced them with milder weather and health. The entire clan would fight it's way through blizzards strong enough to blind and thick piled up snow to attend the festival.

Jack was more interested in Dame Griselda's pies that were to be given to the one who won the games. Chicken-or any sort of poultry was looked after by the thralls but only the chiefs and other elites were fortunate enough to dine on them regularly. The rest had to do with fish. It was a mark of prestige.

But Jack liked chicken-and he was going to eat it.

There.

Wrapped under cloth kept far away from the hearth were the pies. The only question that remained was how many? How many should he take? All of them? Or would he leave some of them for the ones who won?

His mouth watered as the smell hit his nose. Well, he had his answer.

***

Three pies, a full stomach and a narrow escape from a lightly sleeping thrall later, Jack walked through the neighboring forest, satisfied with the night's ventures. He walked slowly, fidgeting with the wristband Kari insisted he always wear, savoring the silence and the cold wind. Jack was never cold-it was one on his many peculiarities that set him apart.

As if having white hair wasn't enough, Jack felt the cold but was never affected by it. And with his strange powers added into the mix, it was no wonder no one at the village accepted him or Kari-the woman he lived with. The villagers thankfully didn't know about his powers yet. Kari said it was for the better or they would have been ostracized-whatever that meant, but Jack couldn't help but think that if the other children knew what he could do with wind and snow and ice, they wouldn't be so quick to call him names. In fact, they might even be impressed enough to play with him.

But Kari never let him.

Just for the fact that in the forest, he could use his powers to his heart's content, Jack spread his arms willing the wind to blow faster, harder and blow his shaggy hair away from his eyes. It obliged, whistling through the forest and bringing with it more cold.