But he kept silent.
As his ebony tomb peeled away and slowly rematerialized into his Nightmare Army, he stood erect but said not a word. His daughter greeted him coldly.
“Follow me. Tell your army to do as I say or you’ll face the consequences.”
With the meagerest of nods, Pitch agreed. His army fell into line behind him as he followed Emily Jane, who led them up through the dark, glistening tunnel of dark matter and toward the Earth’s surface. Pitch kept one hand on his chest over the wound North had given him—the wound that was meant to kill him. The pain of Jack Frost’s demonstration with the dagger still radiated around his heart. Pitch seethed with silent hatred. He had been so patient. He had planned his escape and revenge so thoroughly. And to what end? Complete humiliation at the hands of this eternal boy.
He was so clever, Pitch fumed. He wiped his memory clean of anything that might help me. He only let me hear his misdirection. His real plans he kept hidden even to himself.
As Emily Jane now ushered them out of the tunnel, Pitch saw the full extent of Jack’s and the Guardians’ growing power. Millions of leaves manned by the tree fairies churned above Santoff Claussen. The leaves spiraled into a seemingly endless tunnel up into the sky. Though it was near midnight, the cloudless evening glowed with waves of aurora-like light.
Mother Goose’s Mythosphere, I suppose. Pitch narrowed his eyes. Though this display was meant to prevent Pitch from escaping, it had the further effect of humbling him.
Then he saw the citizens of Santoff Claussen. He’d terrorized them for generations, but he saw not a lick of fear on any face he looked upon. Not on any man, woman, child, squirrel, or insect. And for the first time in centuries, Pitch felt, for one instant, a flicker of fear himself.
He stamped this feeling out like an elephant stamps a flea.
With the wind at her command, Emily Jane sent her father and his army blowing through the tunnel of leaf fairies toward Transylvania. She followed close behind, full of hope for the first time in a very, very long time. She trusted Jack to not only protect the children of Earth, but to somehow bring her father back to a life that cast no darkness on the world.
But her father had one last trick—something Jack had revealed in his long story to Katherine and one he was certain that Frost would not be ready for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Greatest Strength
JACK EXPLAINED HIS OBJECTIVES in very simple terms to the Guardians and to Shadowbent. He had gathered his friends in the high tower of the Werewolf King’s castle.
Jack held up his dagger. “Pitch comes to destroy me, to render this dagger useless, and then destroy us all.” North looked to Tooth, who looked to Sandy, who looked to Bunnymund, who looked to Katherine, who looked back to North. None but Katherine had seen its final form, and they were awed by its sinister brilliance.
“In all his years of confinement his hate has grown ever stronger. Even our combined relics cannot destroy him,” Jack said. “But this dagger . . . this dagger will end him.”
“And how?” asked North.
“It is made of his sorrow,” Jack explained. “And his sadness is what fuels all his hate.”
Jack placed the weapon flat upon Shadowbent’s massive dining table. The blade began to quiver, then move by an unseen force, its tip rotating till it pointed due south.
“It will always point to Pitch. To his hate-filled heart,” Jack explained. “Katherine, take out the compass North gave you and see where it points.”
Katherine was startled, but she pulled the beautiful compass from a pocket in her skirt. She had carried it without fail ever since North had given it to her when she was a child. It pointed toward North himself, so she could always find him. North smiled at the sight of the old gift. But his smile quickly fell to a frown.
North's compass before Pitch's taint
The compass needle turned from him and pointed south.
“His hate has become so powerful, it can retard even the purest good,” said Jack grimly. He paused and let that statement speak to each of them. They understood what he was saying without his having to explain.
“I cannot tell you my plan, only my goal,” Jack now told them, his voice echoing out from the tower and down into the valley and forests below. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Pitch must be stopped.” His voice had a certainty that caused the other Guardians to look at Jack anew. Jack sheathed his dagger.
He was at this moment the strongest of them all.
Today he was their leader.
♦ ♦ ♦
Each Guardian army was in position. Bunnymund’s Warrior Eggs surrounded the base of the castle. With their armor-plated eggshells, they would be a tough defense to crack. With them were the great holy men warriors of the Himalayas, the Lunar Lamas. Such a strange mix of troops—serene priests in their V-shaped formations, hands tucked in the sleeves of their robes, their faces squinting with blissful grins. And standing side by side were the various Yeti tribes.
In the woods that surrounded the castle the Spirit of the Forest lay in wait with every animal and insect with whom she was kindred. Untold millions of ants, beetles, snails, and centipedes were grouped in hidden masses awaiting the order to swarm. Legions of battle-ready squirrels and chipmunks, ten thousand birds, and even the grand old owls of Ombric’s library roosted in the trees of Werewolf Valley.
The Tooth Fairy armies were positioned inside the castle itself. They waited in orderly groups by every window, ready to fly out to battle Pitch’s airborne Nightmare Men if they attacked.
Katherine’s Raconturks stood outside every tower and wall, braced to shout their battle words. Shadowbent kept his werewolves inside the castle, where they crowded the doorways and passages. They were the last and fiercest line of defense, and Jack was thankful they were there.
“Thank you, my friend,” Jack said to the Werewolf King. “If you hadn’t taken me in all those years ago, I’d still be wandering, or even dead.”
Shadowbent snorted his peculiar werewolf laugh. “Nonsense. But you should visit more often. You always bring a party.”
“I like this royal wolfman,” North murmured to Bunnymund. “He’s a bit furry, but he understands life.”
Bunnymund twitched an ear in agreement, then asked Jack, “You met only once, more than a hundred years ago?”
They nodded.
“Friendship will always amaze me,” the Pooka mused.
“You realize that you’re almost becoming human yourself, Bunny,” said North.
“Well, I know how to fix that,” Bunnymund replied. He plucked one of his transformation chocolates out of his vest pocket and popped it into his mouth. Before three twitches of his impressive whiskers, E. Aster Bunnymund had grown a total of ten arms (five on each side) and carried not only nine large sabers, but also his relic, the elaborately carved egg mounted on the end of his ceremonial Pookan staff.
North looked at him with a hint of envy, for Bunnymund stood a good two feet taller than the rotund Cossack when he was in warrior rabbit mode. “I need to invent a new kind of candy cane that will do the same for me,” North groused. But he grew quickly serious because from the south came a distant droning sound. A breeze kicked up, fluttering battle flags. The Guardians looked to Jack.
“It’s Emily Jane and the tree fairies,” Jack announced.
“It’s time,” Katherine added.
They carefully, deliberately placed the four relics of the Golden Age together. North held out his sword, which had belonged to MiM’s father, Tsar Lunar, the last ruler of the Golden Age, with its crescent-shaped orb at the tip. Bunnymund held out his egg-topped staff, which held the purest light in all the universe and could bring life from any darkness. Queen Toothiana brought forth her ruby box, fashioned from the ruby arrow that had nearly killed her parents and which held the Man in the Moon’s baby teeth. Then Sandy came forward. He placed his hand in the center to sprinkle his Dreamsand, the fourth relic, with which
he could destroy any nightmare and leave in its place a happy dream. Jack placed his hand on Katherine’s, and together they cupped the relics, for Jack himself was the fifth and final relic, or he had been, when he was Nightlight. But now he was even more powerful. Then Twiner morphed into six sturdy strands that wrapped, vinelike, around each Guardian’s hand. They all—North, Bunnymund, Sandy, Tooth, Jack, and Katherine—looked from one to the other.
Everything had changed since they’d first become Guardians and found these miraculous relics, and they could feel the change within themselves. They were older. They had, in different ways, grown up. But they had not lost their childhood selves.
And this was their greatest strength. As they felt their bond renew and become stronger, they could feel the radiant hate of Pitch spreading toward them. He had grown stronger too.
But Toothiana felt something more particular. She could feel her old enemy, the Monkey King. He was near, she could tell, and up to something wicked.
“Jack!” she said urgently.
“What is it, Tooth?”
“There’s something we don’t know. I’m sure of it,” she replied. “Something that is meant to hurt you.”
“Search it out,” Jack told her. “But wait until I signal you.” He thought for a moment. The pain in his hand was strangely different. It hurt in a way that harkened back to his earliest days as Jack Frost. Pitch was hiding something. His hate was blocking Jack’s view into his thoughts. Jack held Toothiana’s hand tightly. She nodded and spread her wings.
“I’ll go with you,” Katherine cried out.
“No, Katherine,” said Toothiana. “Your place is with Jack. Especially this day.” Then she dove into the air and flew out the window to the sound of countless leaves and a desperate wind rippling the air.
The remaining Guardians rushed to watch. In the dim midnight light they could see that the tree fairies and Emily Jane were losing control of Pitch and his army as they descended on Shadowbent’s castle. The Nightmare Men and Fearlings were spreading out and pushing against the fairy leaf armada.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Once Upon a Time . . .
JACK’S GAZE GREW STEELY as Pitch’s troops billowed through the sky like a toxic cloud. The next few seconds were to become the most difficult of Jack’s life. His mind and memories became as focused and sharp as the diamond dagger he now drew from its sheath.
Flashes of the past came to him.
The first time he had seen Pitch.
Centuries before, on the Moon. Pitch was reaching out to destroy the baby Prince Lunar.
Jack remembered the hate that illuminated Pitch’s eyes then.
And now that hate flowed with a hundredfold more strength. It radiated from him like waves of deadly heat, scorching the nearest leaf fairies, forcing them farther and farther away. Even Emily Jane was being forced back. The Nightmare Men took the advantage and began to pull out their spears and bows.
Yes, Jack thought. Pitch means not just to destroy me, but to destroy us all.
He whispered to Twiner, “Do all that you can to protect those I care for.”
“You can count on all my powers,” his devoted friend replied. Then Jack almost fumbled his grip on Twiner—a blistering pain flared through his left hand.
Jack locked his eyes on the rip in the Nightmare King’s coat. Underneath lay the wound that Jack had stanched with his own hand.
The pain was worse than any he’d felt before. It took all of Jack’s energy to raise his hand, raise it above his head. He walked to the edge of the ancient stone balcony. The balustrade was broken. No matter. Jack climbed atop its clutter and stood tall, chin set firm, statue-still. Then he held his palm outward so Pitch could see the scar.
Jack closed his eyes and summoned every ounce of mental strength he had to feel and know what Pitch was planning. At the same time, he was making the temperature drop. Ten, twenty, thirty degrees. Then forty. A frigid front of air began to crash against the heat of Pitch’s hate, sparking a blizzard of snow that filled the air of Shadowbent’s valley.
All around Jack, the battle was on the verge of beginning. The Guardians’ many forces were poised, waiting for Jack’s signal.
The werewolf army began to howl, as did the Yetis and the countless woodland creatures. The owls of Big Root hooted and screeched as they lifted off their branches to dive toward Pitch’s relentlessly expanding Nightmare Army. Adding to the building tempest of sound was North, shouting orders above the din. He called to his reindeer, the very ones he’d discovered all those years ago, and moments later they were rigged and ready, pulling and bucking on their reins, their breath making clouds of steam in the Frostian atmosphere.
Katherine looked to Jack. The combined armies of the Golden Age were girding for Armageddon all around him, yet he stood there on the balcony all alone.
He has been alone too much, she thought decisively. She could see the growing scorch of Pitch’s hate. It tinted the sky an eerie red.
“We need all the help there is,” she said, calming Kailash, who, like the other creatures, was agitated. Katherine closed her eyes. She could sense the great pulsing energy of her Mythosphere. Perhaps the world’s storytellers could tip the scales against Pitch’s hate. She began her call for help with the mightiest words in story: “Once upon a time . . .” She repeated the phrase over and over, and with her mind, she sent the invitation for all the poets, fabulists, tall-talers, imagineers, and yarn-spinners to lend their agile imaginations to the cause. And they heard her. Whether sleeping or awake, her desperate call was heard, and the Mythosphere glowed brighter than it ever had. The boundaries of its strength were as yet untested. The way that the power of story could affect reality would soon be known.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mind Over What Matters
JACK’S MIND WAS SO focused on what his foe was thinking that he was now unaware of anything else around him. There was such a churning clot of hate in Pitch’s brain that it was difficult to discern any single thought, much less the one Jack sought. There’s something he doesn’t want me to see, was all he could surmise. Something that could somehow be a trap.
Jack was, however, purposely letting Pitch read his thoughts. It was the only way to keep the Nightmare King distracted from what Katherine and the others were up to.
Then he glimpsed a flash of something familiar lurking in Pitch’s mind. Something from Jack’s past. Something he loved very much. The old farm cabin, the one from his Moondream. Where Ana and Jacklovich lived! And the pain surging through his old wound grew so intense, he nearly plunged from the balcony.
The hardest part about being Jack Frost was outliving any mortal, no matter how loved they may have been. He had never dared to visit the Ardelean family again. The Nightmare King had sworn to kill all those Jack loved, so to keep them safe, he had stayed distant. But he knew they’d had good lives; the werewolves had watched over them and had reported on their history. Jacklovich had married and stayed on the farm. He’d raised many children, the eldest named Jack. And that boy had grown up and done likewise. By now there had been three generations of Ardelean children named Jack. Ana, too, had married and lived nearby. She, too, had children. And every year the family celebrated Jack Frost’s birthday. They used the day that he’d first said the “good-night words.” Jack felt a flush of warmth at the memory.
The image transformed, and Jack began reeling once more. The Ardelean cabin was being surrounded by Lampwick Iddock’s monkey army. Jack knew this was not a memory, but something that was actually happening.
As Jack thought frantically of what to do, Pitch’s voice was suddenly in his mind.
“You thought I had forgotten about your beloved adopted family.” The voice could almost be described as a tender whisper. It went on. “I was merely waiting for the right time to use them against you.”
The image changed again. Now Jack could see inside the cabin. He could see a father, mother, and three children. Two girls and a boy
of perhaps eleven who bore a striking resemblance to the original Jacklovich. All five were being held roughly by the largest of Lampwick’s monkey soldiers.
The Monkey King and Blandim were there as well. Blandim was no longer a tiny maggot. He had grown into something closer in size to a baby squirrel. He wore a little cloak and a childish sort of beanie. He was stumpy and slimy and still very much a worm, and now he was worming his way over to the children. With the same sinister twig that Jack had seen before, he began tracing through the air. Once again the silken shapes of flowers and unicorns appeared. Jack wanted to shout “Don’t touch!” They were made of acid! But the children wouldn’t be able to hear him. So with all his concentration, he sent out his call to Toothiana.
It was time to strike.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
No Mercy
TOOTHIANA HAD A KEEN sense of good and evil. She was, after all, half Sister of Flight and half human. Of all the beings on Earth, the Sisters of Flight had the most developed sense of a creature’s true nature. Being the sacred flying protectors of Punjam Hy Loo required that they had a heightened sense of danger, and for centuries the greatest danger they had felt was the nagging menace of the Monkey King.
So Toothiana needed only to breathe to locate Lampwick Iddock and his simian army.
She found them gathered at the Ardelean farm, and she stealthily circled in the sky above till she heard Jack’s mental call as distinctly as if he were hovering beside her. “Go!” was all he said, but that was all she needed.
She tucked her magnificent blue and green wings close and glanced up at the Moon. “Wish me luck, old friend,” she whispered. Then she leaned into a dive, plummeting silently toward the cabin. Toothiana was not a vengeful being. She reserved the streak of animal ruthlessness in her nature for stopping the wicked. Her beautiful half-bird eyes glistened in the moonlight. There would be no mercy for the Monkey King tonight.
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