Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [70]
“I’m frozen in carbonite!” Jack yelled, contorting his arms outward. The left one jabbed Hazel in the face.
Hazel took a handful of dripping ice and flung it at Jack, and Jack took his own handful and rubbed it into Hazel’s hair. Soon every bit of Hazel was numb, and she and Jack lay next to each other in the pool, all the ice of the neighborhood melting in puddles around them. But Jack and Hazel were not melting. They had defeated the sun.
A gust of icy wind hit Hazel’s face like a slap. The memory left. She stopped and looked around, as if she might see it scampering away. But there was nothing, of course, nothing but the black trees and the snow that worked its worm-tongued way into her sneakers. She reached in her mind for the taste of the sun, but it was gone.
The hill was only growing steeper. Still, she pressed forward. One foot, then the other. Up, and up.
And then she stopped. She had come to a plateau, and the sight before her froze her as still as a winter night.
She was staring into an endless wall of whirling, whipping, roiling snow. The wall spread over the entire horizon, and down as far as she could see. It was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the ground began, if it began at all. If she fell off the precipice she might tumble through the snow for all eternity.
The snow made it look like the very air was churning and gave a sickly cast to the night darkness. It was like she had reached the end of the world, and beyond it was this fierce emptiness that curled its way around everything like a snake, just waiting for its moment to squeeze.
A sick-hued darkness overtook Hazel. There was ground, somewhere, and somewhere beyond that there was a palace, and somewhere beyond that was a witch, and somewhere beyond her was a boy who did not want her to come, and she would not come, could not come, because she could not defeat the winter. She was going to collapse here. She would fail.
And then the cold began to whisper to her. Come, it said. This is nothing. You can survive this. Come, I will help you. Come, you belong here. Come, I will show you.
She took a step forward, whether of her own will or because the cold was dragging her now she did not know.
That’s right. This is nothing. Come.
There should have been the sound of the wind, there should have been her breath and beating heart, but she could hear absolutely nothing but the whispering of the winter.
This is nothing. And you are nothing.
She took another step, and stumbled. The ground was plummeting downward now.
You are nothing.
There was a starving girl. You gave her things and then left her like a beggar on the street, and for what?
There was a couple in the cottage. You could have given them something, but you left. And for what?
There was a dancing girl in the marketplace. You could have helped her, but you left. And for what?
There was a boy and his bird sister. He helped you, and you gave him nothing.
There was a swanskin, and you thought it might make you beautiful.
There were red shoes, and you thought they might make you graceful.
There was a threshold and a magical woods, and you thought they might make you a hero.
There was a boy, and he was your best friend.
Your father left you. You left your mother.
Come, the wind said, and I will blow you away.
Come, the snow said, and I will bury you.
Come, the cold said, and I will embrace you.
Come. Come.
And so she did.
Chapter Twenty-one
Jack, Prince of Eternity
There once was a boy named Jack who lived with the ice and snow. His home was a small ice floe in the middle of an inky lake.
There was a woman who visited him sometimes. She called herself a witch. She said she could be like a mother to him, and that sounded like something good. But when she came he knew there was a great hole at the center of himself. He could never find the right words for her, even though she smiled and patted him on the head and told him he was good.
Sometimes she gave him a kiss on his forehead, and that, too, seemed like