CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Worm Turns Inside Out
IT WAS CLOSE TO dawn when Jack finished telling Katherine his story. The fire had gone from embers to ash, and the room was nearly dark.
She looked down at his left hand, wincing at the sight of the black scar there. It was so deep. She reached out her hand and placed it on his palm. Slowly, his fingers wrapped around and enfolded hers. They sat there together for some time. The things that could have been said would remain unspoken. She understood so much now. To save his family, to save her, to save everyone he loved, Jack had had to vanish. To appear dead. But he had come back. Years had passed and Pitch had kept distant. But now she felt that this too had changed. And that Jack was ready.
“You know how to end this, don’t you?” she asked him.
Jack looked at her and nodded.
“His tears,” he said as he pulled the extraordinary diamond dagger from his belt and held it up to her. Katherine had seen the first diamond dagger, the one that he had made as Nightlight. That had been made from the tears of MiM as a baby and the children of Santoff Claussen. It even contained her own tears. Jack’s ability to take the sorrows of others and forge them into a weapon of protection had always amazed her. But this weapon was different. It came from a different kind of sorrow. Not from the heartbreak of the innocent. This dagger was born out of a far more dismal pain. It came from loss and rage and hate. It reflected light within its diamond prisms, but also a darkness, bleak, black, and terrible to behold.
“For all these years I had to keep my distance,” Jack said to her. “I could never be close to anyone for long. Pitch’s war against my heart was a danger for you all. My care became a death sentence.”
Then he asked a surprising question: “Do you remember the jewels from my Nightlight uniform?”
Katherine nodded emphatically. “Yes. I saved the last ones!”
Before Jack could explain himself further, a great ruckus erupted from outside the library doors. Shouts and crashes and then the sounding of the general alarm. They turned toward the doors. Outwardly, Jack remained calm, but the room grew cold as ice.
“Do you have them with you?” he asked Katherine as easily as if he were asking if she had a handkerchief. She pulled a necklace out from under her blouse. Tied to it was the small velvet pouch that MiM had given her.
“I carry them always,” she told him.
He held out one hand, never looking away from the door. “May I?”
The noise outside grew more violent. Katherine poured the jewels into Jack’s waiting palm. With his thumb, he began to slide and snap them one by one into the handle of the dagger. They fit perfectly.
“Good. I remembered the sizes correctly,” he said with relief. “The dagger is finished. Let’s see what all this commotion is about.” He pointed Twiner at the doors, and they flew open instantly. To their shock, Katherine’s Raconturk guards were fighting a swarming horde of warrior monkeys. Katherine hadn’t seen these monkeys since the battle of Punjam Hy Loo, when Toothiana had become a Guardian.
“Use your battle words!” she commanded her guards. The Raconturks looked gleeful and immediately obliged, shouting in quick succession.
“Thud!”
“Crack!”
“Smack!”
“Splat!”
Every monkey in the entranceway was felled by the invisible onomatopoeic force of the words. Jack shook his head with a grin.
“That is such a good trick,” he told Katherine as they raced to the next battle-filled room. “I wish I could do it.”
“Try reading more,” she replied archly.
“I’ve been too busy making that dagger,” he retorted as they faced another swarm of monkeys. Jack froze them with a quick wave of Twiner, and they shattered onto the floor. He and Katherine made their way to the main balcony that overlooked all of the Isle of Ganderly. From there, they could see that the entire island was under attack.
“I’ve never liked those monkeys,” Katherine said.
“North hated fighting them too,” said Jack. “He said with humans you can anticipate what they’ll do, but monkeys are insane.”
“Why, thank you,” said a suave voice from above.
They swung around. They recognized the voice, but not the creature from which it came. Lampwick Iddock of the Many Legs stood just over them on one of the many giant tree limbs entwined around Ganderly. With him was Blandim the Worm Boy. Clusters of monkeys squatted on every branch and patch of roof, poised to pounce.
“Monkey logic does have its advantages,” said Iddock, his tail emerging from behind his elegant overcoat. It curled and twined as he peered down at them.
“The Monkey King returns,” Jack said with a laugh. “I remember your voice. We fought you and your monkey army in Punjam Hy Loo! You’ve changed, Your Majesty.”
“Yes,” said Iddock, twirling the mustache that grew from his humanish face. “There have been improvements.” Then he looked at his many legs. “And complications.”
Blandim giggled in his boyishly wormy way, to which Iddock shot him a look of annoyance.
Iddock continued. “Pitch is a . . . ‘fanciful’ employer.”
“One way to put it,” Jack agreed. “At least you are trending back toward human. Worm boy there, he’s got a long way back to whatever he might have been.”
“I like being a worm,” said Blandim with a slightly confused frown. “Blandim good worm.”
Before Jack and Katherine could fully stifle their snickering, Blandim brandished a small, pencil-like stick and started tracing shapes in the air. A thread of silk followed the tracings, and the outlines of butterflies and unicorns began to appear, suspended in the air. The effect was charming. Blandim smiled at Jack and Katherine and, astonished, they both smiled back. Then Blandim leaned forward, puffed up his cheeks, and blew. The silk drawings drifted gently toward them. Katherine reached out to touch a unicorn.
Twiner shook in Jack’s hand. Jack understood immediately—Twiner sensed something sinister hiding within the silken whimsy. Jack blocked Katherine’s fingers with the staff to keep her from touching the shape.
There was an immediate burst and sizzle of smoke—the silken drawings were like threads of acid. Blandim smiled his bland smile and giggled his bland giggle.
“I apologize,” said Iddock, “but we do have our orders.”
“You’re too late,” Jack said lightly.
He yanked the diamond dagger from his belt and held it, handle out, toward Iddock. Now it was Iddock’s and Blandim’s turn to look surprised. Both hesitated.
“I know Pitch has been able to read my thoughts since I got this scar.” Jack showed them the ancient wound. “I also know he hoped to stop this dagger from ever being finished. And I know why.”
He flipped the dagger and grabbed its newly jeweled handle with his good hand, then held out his scarred hand out so they could see it clearly. Katherine glanced at Jack uneasily. His only movement was to grip the dagger even more tightly.
Then, with a single quick slice, he cut across his scar. He pressed the blade of the dagger on the cut. A thin stream of black blood trickled from the reopened wound.
Even the monkeys flinched. The battle below stopped. Lampwick Iddock, Blandim, and every ape in their army clutched at their hearts. Jack’s theory—the one he’d learned to keep locked in the most secret part of his mind and memory—was correct. All of Pitch’s creatures were connected to his black heart. This dagger, made of Pitch’s tears, could hurt his heart as no weapon ever forged—and if Pitch felt this pain, then so must all of his minions.
“As much as that hurts you, it hurts Pitch a thousand times more,” Jack said in a steady, firm voice. The ground beneath them began to shake. It was as if the entire Earth were shuddering. “That’s your master,” said Jack to Iddock and Blandim. “He’s very angry.”
Jack then pulled the dagger blade away from his hand. The rumbling ceased. Iddock and Blandim no longer clutched thei
r chests. The monkey army relaxed just a little. Again Jack flipped the dagger and held the handle out to Iddock.
“Take it,” he said politely. “Your master will be most pleased. It’s the only thing that can kill him. He certainly doesn’t want me to have it. I could have him squirming in agony anytime I want. Forever.”
Jack continued to hold the dagger toward Iddock. “Try to be more of a man and less of a monkey, for once.”
Iddock grew red with outrage at the insult, but he was also tempted. He reached out, then hesitated.
“Blandim, my dear friend,” he said to the worm boy. “You should have the honor. Go ahead.” Blandim was delighted. He wiggled every finger in anticipation. He lowered himself with a wormy strand of his thickening silk and reached for the dagger. After a moment of happy giggling he grabbed the handle.
The explosion that followed was instantaneous. The dagger somersaulted into the air, and as it fell back down, Jack caught it as casually as a flipped coin. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of the worm was a pile of scorched clothes, and barely visible on the brim of his still-smoldering hat was a very small, squirming, little cream-colored . . . thing.
“He’s . . . a grub,” gasped Katherine.
“He’s a maggot,” Iddock clarified.
“Indeed he is,” Jack confirmed.
Iddock gave Jack an appraising look. “I assume that you’re the only one who can hold the dagger?”
“In this or any world,” said Jack. “I’m the only one who can hold it or use it. And that is exactly what I intend to do.”
He leaped up to a branch and grabbed Iddock by the lapel of his coat. With his face an inch away from the monkey man’s, he spoke quickly and in almost a whisper. “I’ve fought your master for more centuries than you’ll ever be able to count. I watched him destroy galaxies, worlds, civilizations, families, and friends. He’s chased me and those I love across oceans of time. But I. Am. Done. I’m going back to the place where I was told I would never be rid of him. He’ll know where I’m talking about. He can bring all his armies, everything that crawls or walks or flies. I’ll be there waiting.” Jack brought the tip of the dagger millimeters from Iddock’s nose. The monkey man pulled away as best he could. Jack let loose of his lapel, and Iddock nearly tumbled from the tree limb.
Jack jumped down to the balcony with his usual matchless grace.
“Katherine?” he said, rejoining her and the troop of Raconturks who had gathered around.
“Yes, Jack?”
“Can your men send these fellows on their way?”
“How far?”
“Other side of the world?”
Katherine nodded. Like Jack, she knew exactly what to do.
She gave her men a single, sharp command: “Battle words, full power!”
In perfect unison the Raconturks shouted two distinctive syllables in their loudest voices.
“KAAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!”
Lampwick Iddock, the tiny maggot that was now Blandim, and their entire monkey army were blasted into the evening sky and out of sight. Jack tucked the diamond dagger back in his belt as he looked into the empty air where their enemies had vanished.
“Such a good trick,” he murmured.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jack Is Nimble; Pitch Now Trembles
PITCH HAD LISTENED TO everything that had been said or thought by Katherine and Jack. For years he had focused his mind on the blood bond with Jack. The boy, that blasted boy, had shown compassion by stopping North’s sword at the end of Bright Night. And ever since, Pitch had used this bond, cultivated it to the point where he could feel and sense Jack’s every emotion. But Jack had been very clever. Yes. Pitch had truly believed that the boy had died in the icy waters of the lake. It wasn’t until Jack began his gallivanting in London that Pitch felt his return. And since then, Jack had been so very careful to keep his plans secret. But now he had purposely let Pitch know everything—that he had completed construction of the dagger and he had understood the full power of such a weapon. And made very sure that Pitch knew he intended to use it.
Pitch’s fury was felt throughout Santoff Claussen. Even Mother Nature was alarmed by the abrupt quaking that emanated from underneath the village. Every creature, human or otherwise, had gathered and were ready to do battle if Pitch attempted to escape. Then the shaking and rumbling stopped as quickly as it had started. The sudden silence was even more frightening. Emily Jane stood on the topmost branch of Big Root and listened intently to the wind and leaves. The Mythosphere was in use. She was astonished by what she heard.
“We are to stand down,” she told the now equally astonished villagers. “We are . . . to let Pitch go.”
A fairy folk warrior
“By whose order?” asked the Spirit of the Forest, so agitated she couldn’t keep her feet on the ground.
“Jack Frost himself,” Mother Nature replied. Her bewilderment was profound, but her faith in Jack was stronger, so she continued. “Furthermore, you and I are to rally the fairy nations to escort my father and his armies to a castle in Transylvania.”
“This sounds terribly dangerous,” said the Spirit of the Forest, her eyes glistening. She loved battles, especially when the fairy nations were asked to leave their forests and join in. “The nations of the wee folk will gladly do their part!” she assured Emily Jane. She waved toward the sky; it was already filling with countless leaves, each one guided by troops of Leaf People, the fiercest of all the fairy folk warriors.
Emily Jane hoped that the Spirit and the fairies would keep her father in check, and if she knew what Jack was planning, she did not let on. She was not acting as the daughter of Pitch, but as Mother Nature, who would do whatever was necessary to protect the world and its children.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
One for All and All Against One
MEANWHILE, NORTH, BUNNYMUND, TOOTH, Sandy had gathered hurriedly at the top of the world to discuss the unsettling events. They had all heard the stories that Katherine and Jack had shared.
“What does that boy think he’s doing?!” bellowed North. “Letting Pitch loose with his army? And sending us all to Transylvania, of all places!”
“It’s a curious choice,” Bunnymund admitted. He was twisting and untwisting his ears in concentration. “Surely, though, Jack must have some sort of plan.”
Toothiana rubbed at her ruby pendant. “We have always underestimated him,” she said thoughtfully. “And like it or not, we have misunderstood him. All those years he kept his distance . . . to keep us safe.”
Sandy nodded, his Dreamsand swirling lazily around his head.
“What do you suppose Ombric told him back on Christmas Day?” asked North.
“We may never know for sure,” Bunnymund ventured, “and I’m not sure if it would matter.”
Yet they sat there wondering. So much was uncertain. Everything they’d spent centuries trying to accomplish now seemed to hang in the balance, and the scales were tipping wildly.
“In my experience knowing the particulars of a mystery is far less important than how things turn out in the end,” Bunnymund added philosophically.
North turned and stared at the Pooka.
“Bunnymund.”
“Yes, North?”
“You are the oldest creature in this room?”
“Oh, certainly,” said the Pooka. “More likely the oldest creature in the known universe, I believe.”
North reached over and unwound the rabbit’s ears. “And that’s the first entirely un-rabbity thing you’ve ever said.”
“Thank you!” said Bunnymund.
North rewound his friend’s ears with an irritated flick of his wrist. “The old hopper is right!” North boomed. “We know who our enemy is, we know where to fight him, so let’s get going!”
They rose from their chairs and, feeling galvanized, almost jolly, began their journey to face old foes and help good friends.
“This is just what the proverbial doctor ordered,
” said Bunnymund.
Yet again the Pooka was right.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Moon Is Full
MEANWHILE, THE MAN IN the Moon stood alone looking around the beautiful room that had once been his nursery. Not a thing had ever been changed since those long-ago days, so it was like going back in time. MiM remembered everything from his past, which was a treasure both sweet and bitter. Joy and sorrow had equal purchase in his memory. But his memories of his days and nights in this room were almost entirely happy. The hugs and the kisses good night from his mother and father, followed by the ever-watchful Nightlight and his Dreamsand and his good-night song. Nightlight. His first friend. His oldest friend. His friend was much changed now, in name and in appearance, but one thing had stayed absolutely the same: Whether he was called Nightlight or Jack Frost, he was still the bravest boy there had ever been.
MiM had no room for worry. He knew that the Moon would be full and bright on the night when his friend would need him most.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Between the Tick and the Tock
MEANWHILE, OMBRIC WAS STILL recovering his strength as the drama he had set in motion played out. As Father Time, he was now everywhere and nowhere. He rested in the space between the tick and the tock. A place where events had started but had not yet finished. It was a peaceful place. Nothing moved or made a sound. A bird’s song was not yet heard. A raindrop was waiting to fall. Lightning was soon to strike. But Ombric was certain that when the right moment came, Jack Frost would do his best. And that is all that a great wizard could ever hope for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Like an Elephant Stamps a Flea
THE RAGE OF AN adult who has been outsmarted by someone younger is distinct from the many angers of the so-called grown-up. This rage is bitter. It is generously spiced with indignation and insult. Pitch felt all these variations of outrage. He felt them in the extreme. He felt them to the depths of his dark and dangerous soul.
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