Long ago, before the sun set sail in the great barge across the sky, it was set into the tallest mountain in the world. Men would come from all over to share the light and warmth and life of the sun, for all other ends of the earth were cold and dark. In these places of the earth the dark things still roamed freely, carrying away all living things for their own ends.

Such was the nature of the dark things that no god or mortal had ever seen their face or form. No two were alike, and what little of them was glimpsed looked roughly hewn together from thorn bushes and predatory insects. Of all the dark things, the one known as Cold was the most cruel. He lived as far north of the sun as he was able, and the icy chill from his body was so great that it covered all the world. When he left his cave, the deepest cavern in the northern mountains, even the sun itself would flicker and wane.

So long as Cold lived in the north, all the gods and men knew that nothing would grow for long and life would not last on the earth. The gods conceived a plan to banish Cold forever. The chill of Cold was so great, even the lives of gods would be snuffed out, and no man could survive within it for long, but if a man was made immortal, he might take Cold’s icy breath inside himself, and thereby strike at the heart of the dark thing.

In the northern lands there lived a king, and when he heard of the gods’ plan to banish Cold, he traveled to the tallest mountain in the world. Though he had lived in fear of Cold for all his years, he was the king of the northern lands and, moreover, he coveted the immortality such an act would grant him. He came before the gods and said, “My lands are nearest to the lair of Cold. In truth, but for him, the caves of ice and wind would be mine as well. Let me fulfill this task as both my right and duty.”

The gods saw no reason to deny his request, for Cold was a fearsome thing and there were few mortals so brave to challenge him, even for life eternal. They gave the northern king a fruit from the tree of death and told him that upon eating the fruit he would become immortal. No matter how terrible the frost of Cold became, his body and soul would endure, and in this way he might slay the dark thing and banish Cold ever after. So the king of the northern lands bowed, and thanked the gods, and returned to his homelands. In his great castle he prepared his warmest garments and his sharpest sword. The northern king beheld his reflection in the blade’s sheen, and he saw there fear and doubt. He feared Cold, and he wondered if he could slay the dark thing alone. He saw his face in his sword, and he saw that he was already old, and wondered what immortality might mean.

At last he called for the court jester, Munhihausen. The northern king said, “Munhihausen, I have agreed to banish Cold, but I fear I cannot do so alone. I have the fruit from the tree of death, and if you will take on all the icy chill of Cold then you will have immortality in return, and I will slay him, so that he might be banished forever.” Well, Munhihausen had known the northern king for many years, and though he was only a jester, there was some familiarity between the two. The jester agreed to help the king, and the king gave the jester his second-warmest clothes, and second-sharpest sword, and the two set forth towards the caves of the northernmost lands.

The further north they went, the colder the air became. It slipped deep inside the folds of their warmest clothes and curled around the bones of the king and the jester, but they pushed onward. The northern king said, “We should rest, Munhihausen. I fear my bones are too brittle to go on.” The jester replied, “We cannot, my king. For if we do, we will surely freeze in an instant, and spend the rest of our days in these bitter lands.” The king accepted Munhihausen’s wisdom, and they continued on until they reached the base of the northern mountains. The air was so cold here nothing moved at all. There was not the slightest breeze, for even the wind was frozen.

“Are you certain you do not want to eat the fruit from the tree of death?” asked the jester, and the king assured him that he did not, for the king still feared the terrible icy breath of Cold. Thus the jester ate the fruit all up and, as he ate it, the chill which hung in the air unwound from his body until he felt not even the slightest bit cold. “If it works as the gods have said, my king, then we shall soon see, but I have little reason to doubt them now!” The northern king, too, noticed a lessening of the cold around the jester.

The northern king and his jester climbed into the mountains, and the frozen air closed behind them. But Munhihausen did not feel the chill anymore, and the king felt it less, as it fled from Munhihausen’s presence. Soon enough they came across all manner of men, women, and beasts, frozen in place. Their features were faded away and, when they stopped to inspect one poor statue, the king and the jester discovered they had been not worn by time as much melted by the distant heat of the sun. Thereafter, they did not linger over the lost souls and their expressions of horror, features of ice contorted at something unseeable.

Though they could not feel the air growing cooler, they could tell by their breath that temperature dropped further and further, as the statues of men and beasts grew more numerous with each step. It was not much longer before they came to a great cavern, swept by winds at the entrance. From deep inside the mountain came the sound of a rushing river, and something like the sound of gravel trickling over rocks. “You should prepare yourself to strike,” said the jester, “for I fear Cold will arrive before long.”

“How can you know this?” asked the northern king.

Munhihausen waved an arm and replied, “I can hear and feel it breathing, and so can you.” The king moved away from the entrance to the cave, and in the space of seven horrible breaths, Cold came from the depths of the mountain.

Little enough of the dark thing could be seen from the shadows, as the sun’s faint light flickered and waned. Claws graced it like the wings of a mangled bird, and somewhere at the end of a neck like a scorpion’s tail a mouth hung, riddled with the teeth of a hundred different beasts. From this great maw an icy gale poured forth. The northern king cowered in terror at the slick black ice of the dark thing’s skin. The rocks strewn about the cavern cracked to dust and whirled through the air, but Munhihausen felt nothing. The dark thing drew in a breath with the sound of a waterfall and, as it exhaled, all the air about the jester turned white with frost. Still, he felt nothing.

Munhihausen, seeing how he did not feel at all the breath of Cold, stepped forward and swept his sword across the horribly twisted neck of the dark thing. But so cold was the dark thing, and so cold was its breath, his steel shattered into a thousand pieces. “Now,” said Cold, “we will see if a bite is more than a breath.” And with this its jaws descended and closed around Munhihausen’s body.

The gods were yet as good as their word. The jester was immortal, and though he felt the terrible fangs penetrate his body, he did not die. In the jaws of Cold, all its icy chill went rushing into the jester. Munhihausen’s skin turned pale, and a fine layer of frost covered him. His hair turned white as the first snow, and his eyes became as blue as icicles. He cried out to the northern king, “You must act, my king! The icy chill of Cold is inside me, and my sword is lost! You must slay him straightaway!”

Though still filled with fear, the northern king rose to his feet, and drew his sword, and in the space of seven steps he had passed the blade through the body and the heart of Cold, and slain the dark thing. It lay on the earth, with its blood tainting the soil, and uttered its dying words:

“So you used the gifts of death to rid the world of Cold, but what life you have will bear my mark forever, for you will carry my breath in you for all of your days. And you, who have passed your sword through me, you will live with my chill surrounding you at all times, and never shall your suffering end. You who are already immortal, only so long as you carry my breath inside you shall you live, and should you ever release it, your life will bleed forth like any other mortal.”

Laying its curse, Cold died.

Thereafter, the northern king became the Winter King, and he made his home in the farthest north lands where Cold had lived, and ever after these lands remained frozen.

As for Munhihausen, the jester, he became the Jack of the Frost, and bore the burden of all the cold of the world in good humor and good grace. All the year round save but a few months he held the cold inside himself, and so he lived many more years than any man, and many gods, and if winter has not died then he is still alive today.