Winterbind
My first encounters with Uncle Jack were as a child, as most peoples' are.1 I considered myself quite a clever child and so knew several facts. The first was that Winterbind had been introduced only to prevent Mondovans partaking of the far more entertaining Venefican solstice celebration of Turana, which traditionally incorporates feasting and fireworks and some lovely dances. The second was that Winterbind is a mess of traditions all based on whatever local winter holiday had come before it, the same only in name across the country as so many things are. The third and most important fact was that Uncle Jack was not real and was not even based on a single person. Rather, Uncle Jack drew from two early Church figures, namely Martyr Jacques de Noyenne and Martyr Ditmar des Schnees.2
This last part is the most important, of course. Martyr Jacques is one of those early martyrs who died attempting to spread the Church far beyond the accepting borders of Mondova and found himself killed in the process. However, his method of spreading the faith (namely in the charitable giving of small golden coins to the impoverished) was fondly remembered even by the Thysbeans who killed him. Martyr Ditmar des Schnees, on the other hand, was something of a miser and a brute from somewhere around Neuss. He died not by the blade but rather by the hand of God himself, killed on the road by a freak snowstorm while attempting to spread the Word to some village in the mountains.3
But Uncle Jack has become a singular figure in the tales of Winterbind and as such is fondly loved in many places. For all his differences there are plenty of similarities in habit and law and so everyone can claim to know Uncle Jack in some form or other.
The most important and common facts are these: That one must keep a warm hearth to discourage his staying (for he is a terrible houseguest), that one must accept any gifts offered, and that one must by all accounts be polite and well mannered in all conversation and answer honestly any question posed. In Valois, where I was born, there was a fourth rule, that one must always be kind to the great black bear who travels beside him and, if possible, offer the bear a treat to avoid being devoured. Why the spirit travelled beside a bear was always a mystery to me, but animal companions are quite common. In Thouar they picture him beside a small black crow who demands seeds as tribute and in Ruinenstadt he rides a huge elk, Saundre pictures him on an enormous rabbit bearing a sword made of pure ice with which he will duel those he finds upon the road.4
When we meet him as children Uncle Jack, therefore, is both friend and foe as so many other childhood creatures are. He is the perfect image of a stranger, to be respected and feared and treated kindly in equal measure.
My first encounter with Uncle Jack was at a party when I was the age of 5, where a man on stilts swept through the crowd beside a tamed black bear. He had a grand song to sing and passed out small chocolate coins to all of the children in attendance. This man, I knew, was a theatrically inclined friend of my cousin Che Arnoult de Verin5 and so he posed no danger to us. In subsequent years there was no reason to fear this strange spectre who I was told left the shining golden coin amid my Winterbind gifts. And so, at the age of fifteen the figure I met on the road posed no danger to me.
I was making the traditional walk through Cliffside to attend as many Winterbind parties as possible in one night (my personal record at present is twenty-two, of which I enjoyed three)6 when I became separated from my companions by some distance. This was not a particular concern as Cliffside is one of the safer parts of the city and I found that the peace and quiet was fairly welcome after the seventh party of the night, so I lagged behind and enjoyed the peace of the street. It was during this walk that I noticed a man shadowing my steps from the other side of the road. He was a gangly creature, dressed in an old-fashioned and ragged looking cloak which he clutched with torn gloves. I could not quite make out his face under the brim of his wide hat.7
I confess that I assumed any man wandering Cliffside must be at least of some means and might simply be dressed the part for a party, so I thought I would show off the charity of the Peerage houses. I beckoned him over and took off my own gloves. I pressed them into his hands and bowed and declared that Uncle Jack was more than welcome to come to any party I was attending that night, as my personal guest.
"Are you sure?" asked the man. His hands were surprisingly cold and I noticed instantly that he had the extra joints common to Veneficans and uncommon in that part of the city except on servants.8
"Of course!" I said. "Come if you will and celebrate the season with me."
The man, Uncle Jack, considered the idea as he pulled the gloves onto his hands. To my surprise, despite the extra joint the gloves fit perfectly.9 He reached under his cape and held out a single gold coin which I took for a livre. He pressed it into my hands.
"Be safe, young man," he said and as my friends returned to me I found that Uncle Jack had departed in shambling fashion down the road.
I still have the coin, which is imprinted with a face I do not recognise and letters and numerals I cannot place. My many searches show no possible source for this coin, though it looks very much like any ordinary livre from a distance.10
From that day I have always ensured that there was a merry fire in the hearth of my home at Winterbind and that all beggars are treated well indeed,11 and for several decades I was able to pass the whole event off as a strange prank which ensured I kept the season properly. The coin was a curiosity to offer at parties and no more.
My third, my last, encounter with Uncle Jack was of a different sort entirely.
A combination of ill-planning and familial obligation meant that I had become trapped in a cousin's hunting lodge west of Saintsfall during a rather impressive snowstorm. We made the most of it, of course, and organised a huge feast of recently hunted venison and some rather excellent brandy. The party was enjoyable, if lacking for some of the usual elements and entirely devoid of a band (though we did make fair use of the piano), and by midnight the fire was reduced to some embers and the revellers had mostly exhausted themselves. I had gone for a brief constitutional and was on my way to bed when I happened to pass the front hall and so heard a knock on the front doors.
Now this particular lodge was one of those in which the front doors opened to one of the larger public rooms, perfect for throwing oneself down in exhaustion beside a fire after a long day's walking. We called it "The Hall" and I expect it was the bulk if not all of the original structure onto which pieces had been added over the years. After the night's party the room was mostly empty and so the fire had been left to fail. Some impulse at the sound of the tapping overtook me and I, without thinking, threw a log onto the fire in the hopes of renewing the flames.
And then, like any good host, I went to answer the door.
The figure I found at the door was neither the kindly friend of my cousin who handed out sweets to children nor was it the hunched beggar of Eidolon. Rather, the figure in the doorway was a tall man in a well appointed coat decorated with what I took to be diamond buttons.12 On his shoulder, a hood affixed to its head like a hunting bird, was a very small crow.
"I beg your pardon," said the man, sweeping a brief bow which did not disturb his bird in the least. "But I find myself in need of a place to wait out the night."
Standing in the doorway I began to feel very cold, even more so than the weather entailed.
"But of course," I said instantly, recognising my potential plight and hoping that the lone log I had thrown on the fire was sufficient. "Please, come in. Can I offer you a drink? Perhaps some dinner? Come, sit by the fire."
I was pleased, eminently pleased, to find that the man recoiled in the doorway, refusing to take a step further in. I waited, still holding onto my most pleasant expression, still beckoning forward to the warmth within.
"My thanks," said the man and reached into a pocket of his coat. He withdrew a coin, smaller even than a Dysydic penny, but brightly gold, and set it on the table beside the door. He retreated to the cold of the night and so was gone.
This golden penny, unlike the livre of the years before, has no design on it at all. It is smooth as an amulet, as glass, so well shined even after these years that one can almost see a reflection in it. This one I do not bring out at parties. This one I would prefer not to look at at all.13
1 As ever I would remind anyone reading this that Che Grand-Pere believed that all stories are most interesting if the author was involved. It is entirely likely he just heard these particular tales during one of his many, many nights at the pub or that it's all just lies all the way down. -LV
2 The gift giving element also likely derives from stories of the General Elegun. -T
Well someone had to give out gifts, otherwise the children would be disappointed -K
3 I heard he ate his own foot when he was snowed into a cave. -OV
Gross speculation. He ate his manservant though. -S
Only after he had died. -PLS
4 Mother claims to have fought him to the death, you know. She said that's why you never see him on the road anymore. -PLS
If it were anyone but Rogiette I'd call them a liar to their face. -T
5 Arnoult de Verin died in that stage accident, didn't he? -K
"Accident", you mean. -S
Not everything is a conspiracy, S -T
No I'm with her. Those ropes were cut, that's a fact. -OV
Thank you! I've got a pamphlet for you to read. -S
6 Personal best is 17 but I was violently ill at the 11th and had to be carried to the rest. -LV
7 Wide-brimmed hat suggests he was dressed in seventh century fashion. A very common period for ghost sightings, though one must wonder why. -T
The fashion was better, it was all black. People love ghosts in black. -PLS
8 Rude. -S
Che Grand-Pere had some opinions which will not be surviving the next publication. -LV
9 Manipulation of the Real and Physical is an interesting addition. The text is unclear, did he fit his hands to the glove or in taking the glove did it become a part of the spirit? -T
10 I have left the coin in question on a shelf in the library with T. It looks miscast to me, as though the centering of the stamp were off and then it was stamped again. -LV
Hard disagree, the letters have more in common with a Kalvosian Gotterune, they shift according to the viewer. -S
That's just your perspective. -K
11 That's a lie, the man was a perfect bastard to everyone he met but especially guests. -PLS
12 "But they were actually made of ICE!" -B
"And all of the buttons were also skulls." -B
"And the skulls were made of ice." -B
13 Alright, go on, where is the penny? -PLS
I don't have any idea. I would say this is another of Che Grand-Pere's many exaggerations but he did show it to me once when I was a child. He was quite right, it was oddly smooth. It was also terribly cold. -LV
He probably just put a bit of gold on a piece of ice to scare you. You were always a credulous child. -PLS
The joke will be on you when I find it again, harridan -LV
Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild
Comments