Jack Frost

Jack Frost
Copyright 2004 by Boris Ricci


The boy in blue, who looked to be no more than ten years old, walked into the damp tavern. Swinging the door wide open the boy let in the bitter cold enter, which upset many in the tavern, and made them all turn and see the boy.
The boy, with the look of mischief in his eyes, studied the tavern. The tavern truly was damp, kept illuminated by the lanterns accommodated about, and a fireplace that had three men warming their blood by it’s heat; all of their eyes on the boy.
The boy truly was something to look at. His skin was as blue as somebody that had just gotten suffocated, and his hair was as white as snow. He was thin and wore a blue hood over his torn gray shirt and pants. The pants were torn up to the knees, and everybody could clearly see he had journeyed here, barefoot.
“Hey, close the door will ya.”, somebody yelled over in the tavern. The boy, without even turning to see who it was, took a hold of the wooden door and slammed it shut. He pulled back his hood, revealing his milky white hair to the fullest, and without brushing off the scrapes of snow from his clothing, he walked over to the counter.
Every one now was turning to each other and muttering about the boy in blue, giving quick glances back every now and then, finding more and more things to discuss about the boy. One man in the far back, wearing a chainmail, and bearing the mark of the king from a piece of clothing draped over his armor, was beginning to feel the buzz of his ale, when a waitress brining more ale for the man to sip on, brought to his attention of the boy in blue. The man in armor looked over to the counter were she pointed at.
“By the gods. That’s Frost.” the man said, a bit hesitantly.
“Frost? Frost who?” the waitress, puzzled, asked.
“He is the boy of winter. Jack Frost. The captain blames him for the loss of his youngest son. I must warn him at once.”
Jack hopped onto a stool, and grimly starred at the clerk across the counter. The clerk was a bald man, with a thick gray mustache.
“Ale”, Jack demanded from the clerk. Everyone at the counter went quiet, they all looked up at the clerk and waited for his reaction. The clerk held a glass in his hand, wiping it clean with a wipe in his other hand, eyeing the boy suspiciously. A noise came from the front door, and everyone looked, except for Jack, to see a man in armor leave the tavern.
Then Jack took one hand, rolled it up into a fist, and slammed it hard on the counter table. “ALE” he demanded, louder than before.
“I’m sorry little one, it’s not my place to serve a boy of your age.” the clerk clearly told Jack. Jack got upset, and it showed.
“ALE, ALE, ALE. I WANT ALE, I WANT ALE.”, Jack began to chant loudly in his stool, taking his fist and slamming it repeatable on the counter. At this point everyone’s suspicion dropped. Nobody saw Jack as a mysterious stranger, but a spoiled child. The clerk looked at Jack, with a right mind to take his back hand and smack Jack across his face, but instead he said, “Look boy”, fighting to be heard over Jack’s loud rambling, “where are your parents.” Ignoring him, Jack carried on.People in the tavern grew tired of Jack’s chanting, awfully quick. Some began to yell at the clerk. “Give him some ale, already. Just shut his trap, is all I ask. Jeez.”, a man hollered, followed by a couple of Yeah’s, and some undecided grunting.
The clerk began to hesitate. Suddenly putting it all together, he gave a hard look at Jack and said, “ALRIGHT BOY, shut up.”, Jack became quiet. The clerk took the glass in his hand and went over to the keg, filled the glass with some ale, and went back over to Jack.
“This is all you’ll be getting from me, boy.”, the clerk said angrily, sliding the pint of ale over to Jack. Jack took the ale gladly, sliding it closer. He studied the ale, looking it thru from the transparent glass with awe. Success. All eyes were upon him once again. A boy was verging to drink the drink of men; a wonderful moment.
Jack put the glass to his mouth, when the front door of the tavern flew open, and an incredibly large man stepped in with three other men, one of which had been in the tavern earlier; all of them in mail and bearing the sign of the king. Jack put the ale down. He looked up at the large man, the captain of the guard, with an expression of fear on his face.
“I see Jacob was correct. Jack Frost in the flesh.” the captain of the guard said, while advancing on Jack. Instinctively, the captain’s men began to locate themselves around Jack, all drawing their swords. Jack never left his eyes of the captain. The captain was a tall, blue eyed, long blonde haired, simpleton. He was righteous, proud, and at the moment, pissed.
“I’ll stop beating around the bush and get to the point. You have robbed me of my kin, and I demand for his return. Your punishment will be according to how much blood you have drawn from him.” the captain spoke, making the ending of his statement sound harsh. Jack’s expression suddenly changed from fear to his recent look before, of mischief, which startled the captain.
“Those that walk in my wonderland sometimes lose their way out. One is responsible for his own life, captain.”, Jack said in a clear tone. The captain’s face turned red. This was obviously not the answer the captain wanted. His ideal response from Jack would not be to have any words wasted, but a simple return of what was his, in whatever way possible. But that wasn’t how it went, so he drew his longsword; the only way he knew how to convince others.
People in the bar saw the hostility start, and were compelled to speak out and say it would be mad to accuse a boy for the loss of another, or how worse it would be to kill him for it. But nobody said anything, so they continued to watch.
“I ask for the return of my son one last time before I use the sword my father handed to me, and I to my son.”, the captains demand left him at the verge of tears, and his bottom lip trembling for holding them back, and a face redder than before. Jack gave the captain a stern face, no longer of mischief. Taking a deep breath, Jack began, “Those that walk in my wonderland sometimes lose their way out. One is responsible...”, The captain rose his sword high over his head, “So be it”, said the captain, and plunged hard down at Jack. Jack kicked himself off the stool, falling hard on the floor, as the stool was destroyed under the captain’s sword. The captain, surprised by his actions, of an anger untamed, quickly pulled back his sword, “Quickly,”, the captain spoke to his men, “bind him, don’t harm. QUICKLY.” At once, the three men in mail plunged at Jack, taking hold of his arms and legs as he kicked and yelled. The longer the struggle between Jack and the captain’s men lasted, the colder everyone seemed to noticed it got in the tavern. Some even looked to see if the front door of the tavern was open, only to see it safely closed. The captain of the guards looked down at the remains of the stool, an act done by him that could have gone much worse. The captain could see what would have happened if the boy and mystifier called Jack hadn’t reacted so fast, when he noticed that each breath he took stood before him as a white mist. He turned back to his guards, one of who had Jack held tight with his arms across Jack’s chest. His fighting back, the captain thought, as well he should.
Jack took his hand and placed it above the arm of the guard that had him held so tightly across his chest. A bit preoccupied with Jacks struggling, the guard did not notice the hand of Jack place above his arm. Then like a slow fire, the immense burning sensation that could only be compared to dry ice coming from the guards arm, almost took him by surprise. Instinctively, the guard dropped Jack, who took the opportunity to take that very same hand, retreat it back into his girdle, and draw forth a golden dagger that was put quickly into good use on the guardsmen knee cap, who stood before Jack; holding the ropes that were to keep Jack bound on their journey back. The guard stumbled forward onto the floor, from that quick, painful cut, and Jack rushed underneath him, and headed for the door.
Fumbling for the handle, Jack suddenly felt a clean, warm cut on his back. With tears of pain displayed on his face, Jack turned to see the third guard, the one the captain referred to as Jacob, standing behind him, holding the sword; the bottom half blood-stained with Jack’s blood.
Jack began to cry and sob from the pain, reacting to the pain as any child would; not as an old powerful mystical creature that he was.
“Now. It would be wise if you did not turn your back on me again, unless you would like another cut to follow that one.”, Jacob spoke ruthlessly to Jack. Jack began to wipe the tears from his face, and began setting a firm expression on his face; still evident enough to see he was just recently crying. Jack looked at Jacob straight in the eyes, and slowly, enough to see the insult Jack was putting into it, he turned his body back to face the door. Appalled, Jacob rose his sword and planned another cut to his last; one, added to the one before, would create the impression of an “X” on Jack’s back. Plunging hard with hand on sword, he drove the sword to Jacks back, when Jack turned, blocked the sword with his golden dagger, (that miraculously shattered the sword to pieces on impact) then took the dagger in hand, quickly flipped it’s position, and stabbed the boot of Jacob. Jack then swung the door of the tavern open, and in a few paces into his winter wonderland, Jack vanished into the snow.
Everyone was quiet in the tavern, including the captain, when someone in the bar hollered, “Would somebody close that door. It’s freakin cold in here. Christ.”.
In deep thought, the captain looked at his crew of men, who were all momentarily disabled from a boy; a thought that almost made him chuckle, when he realized that Jack was more than that, and he still did not have his son.
“Now how could that be possible. O-ouch...”, Jacob began, standing on one knee, attempted to pull the golden dagger of Jack, planted on his boot, “Luckily it only brazed my toe. But how in gods name could my sword shatter like so. I say. It must have been something to do with his blood. What do you say, Captain?”, the captain advanced on him, as Jacob admired the golden dagger. “We could also sell his dagger for a mighty, fair price, it seems to be made of gol...”, Jacob suddenly became quiet when he looked up at the captain, who looked back at Jacob in a mad, red face.
“What were the orders.”
“T-to bind the boy, and not to harm him.”, Jacob responded, very weakly; beginning to understand how it felt to be bullied by someone bigger; much like what he did to Jack. The captain stood above Jacob, who was still on one knee, starring deep into his eyes. Jacob starred right back with fear plainly written on his face, that the captain took as a pathetic gesture; all the more to build his anger on. It looked as though the captain had somebody at his ears, looking at Jacob and whispering back to the captain, look how spineless he is. I say, punish him. His incompetence has costed your sons safe return. Make him pay. And at that, the captain couldn’t help to agree with his thoughts, and was at the very verge to open his mouth and let him have it, when a thought came to mind, at the nick of time, and showed him how the captain handled his anger to Jack, how he could, and would have done so much more than the man that was down at his feet, and he, himself, felt like the brute. His expression of fury faded.
“You will be relieved of this incident. But make sure this never happens again.”, the captain said. Jacob, stood on both feet, with a face of relief before his captain.
“It will be as you say.”, Jacob responded.
Afterwards, all of the wounds were bandaged, some of the captains men found the time for some ale, and drank to their health. After all their business were taken care of, they all left the tavern. Outside, they retrieved their horses from the stable, and began riding them thru an open white plane of snow.
On the journey back to their Lord’s keep, many of the men had fallen asleep on their mount; the captain kept awake. It was nightfall, and had become as cold as ever. The captain looked out at the snowy planes, troubled with thought. He had lost his son to this planes, had met the prince of this planes, and had almost killed him; innocent that he was. The incident back in the tavern, a fury let lose, played in his mind over and over, until it became parts, mostly when he had struck his sword, believing Jack to being beneath it, dead. There was lesson to be learned from it, but what was it?. Not to let ones fury to get the best of you, the captain thought, but wasn’t sure if that was it. He pondered at this some more. He thought how relieved he was when he discovered a stool alone destroyed beneath his sword, and Jack safely beside it. Then the word relieved made the captain think of Jacob, it was as almost he had given him a second chance. He too was given a second chance, in a way. If Jack had died beneath his sword, the burden alone would have most possibly driven him mad. Then the lecture became obvious, Every man deserves a second chance, the captain thought, and was satisfied with it. And as though a spell were broken, the wind about them, and only about them, quickened. It grew as strong as a small blizzard, that put every men on alert. Perhaps, the captain thought, one of Jack’s tricks. When, with as much sight someone is given in a blizzard, saw the figure of a boy stand before in a dune of snow before the captain’s eyes. Jack, the captain thought.
“What is this Jack?”, the captain yelled, feeling snow flurries jump in his mouth. Then, as fast as the blizzard had picked, dropped instantly. A bit snow blind, the captain blinked his sight back to normal to see the boy he believed to be Jack, was not Jack at all. He dropped from his horse, stumbled to his feet, and rushed to this boy; with the excitement any father would give to his son after believing the worst had happened. And with the same affection the captain showed the boy, the boy showed the captain; his father. The captain pulled back to see the face he hadn’t seen for the better half of a year, then pulled him close once more kissing his cheek, and missing him so much. The captain looked up at the sky from his son’s shoulder. Then he reflected on what was done this day, and the lesson the captain had learned; a lesson he had learned well. And maybe, that’s all the gods wanted.
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