Once upon a time, in a far-off kingdom blanketed by ice and snow, there was a small village nestled between towering, frozen mountains. The winters there were long and harsh, but the villagers had learned to live with the cold. However, there was one kind of chill, spoken of only in hushed whispers, that few had ever encountered: the so-called “Infernal Cold.” It was said to be no ordinary chill, but a frost so intense and mysterious it could petrify flames or freeze the sound of laughter before it left your lips.
In that village lived a boy named Thomas. He was a cheerful, curious child, always brimming with questions. His father was a skilled artisan who earned a living carving statues from ice—sculptures that never melted, no matter how bright the sun shone. One day, Thomas’s father received a most unusual commission: he was to craft a magical sculpture that, when completed, could bring about the long-awaited spring. To accomplish this, he needed one special ingredient: “a quarter of Infernal Cold.”
Thomas furrowed his brow when he overheard his father’s request. A quarter of Infernal Cold? He knew the word “quarter” as a measure—like a quarter of a pound of sugar. He also knew it could mean the fourth part of something, or a fraction. And, of course, a “quarter” could mean a type of room or living space, as in “quarters” where soldiers slept. And it could refer to order or position, like first, second, third, fourth (the “fourth” item in a sequence). But how did these different meanings help him obtain this strange Infernal Cold?
“Son,” said his father, pressing his hands together to stay warm. “I need your help. You must journey to the castle of Count Frostwhisper, high up in the greatest of these frozen mountains. Inside that castle, there’s an inner market where a merchant named Clara Snowgust sells extraordinary things. She is the only one who trades in Infernal Cold. Tell her you need ‘a quarter of Infernal Cold.’ That’s the exact measure I need. But be cautious, my son. The castle is a maze of ice.”
Thomas, determined to help his father, prepared for the journey. He donned his thickest coat, pulled on sturdy boots, and covered his head with a woolen cap. Armed with a piece of bread and a flask of hot tea, he set out up the mountain path. The wind that greeted him was bitter, and each step seemed to stir the drifting snow. Clouds loomed above like silent spectators.
When Thomas finally reached the massive gates of Count Frostwhisper’s castle, he found them sealed shut by an enormous lock. Next to the lock, etched into the ice, he noticed an inscription:
“To enter the castle where cold holds sway,
Seek the key in the fourth place unseen until today.”
Thomas paused, trying to unravel the clue. The “fourth place unseen until today”? He knew “fourth” could mean a sequence—first, second, third, fourth. Perhaps he had to find a hidden fourth doorway or chamber around the castle walls. He circled the fortress and discovered three small doors: the first led to a snowy courtyard with icy staircases, the second to a frostbitten garden, the third to a frozen kitchen. He wondered: where was the fourth door?
After searching carefully, he finally spotted a tiny door concealed behind a slab of ice. This must be the “fourth place” mentioned in the riddle. He had not seen it the day before—he hadn’t even known it existed until now. With effort, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
The small, hidden room—this “fourth” chamber—was dark. Thomas lit a small oil lamp he carried, casting a trembling glow across the space. Hanging from the ceiling were four crystal prisms, each engraved with a number: 1, 2, 3, and 4. He recalled the inscription and guessed that the fourth crystal might be the key. Gently, he removed the prism marked “4” and carried it back outside. Sure enough, when he fitted the crystal into the giant lock on the main gate, the mechanism creaked and opened. The path to the castle’s interior now lay before him.
Inside, the cold was even more severe. Drafty corridors seemed to twist endlessly, as if mocking any traveler’s sense of direction. Frozen mirrors reflected Thomas’s worried face back at him, and the silence was so profound he could almost hear the frost settling around him. He pressed on, determined to reach the inner market where Clara Snowgust was said to trade in the strangest commodities.
After wandering through three very long hallways, Thomas emerged into a circular chamber ringed by four doors, each with a number. He tried the first door: it led to a grand hall filled with ice statues but nothing else of interest. The second door opened onto a library so cold that the pages of the books were fused together by frost. The third door revealed a deserted kitchen with ladles, spoons, and pots all encased in layers of ice, unusable and silent.
At last, only the fourth door remained. Again, the number four presented itself. Thomas couldn’t help but notice the pattern: a quarter of Infernal Cold was needed, the fourth crystal had opened the gate, and now the fourth door was his remaining hope. Could this be where he would find the Infernal Cold?
He opened the fourth door and followed a winding corridor until he reached a modest little shop carved into the ice itself. Behind a crystal counter stood a woman with rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes, dressed in a silver coat and holding a delicate scale made of glass. Around her were jars and flasks of peculiar substances: colored snowflakes, bottled breezes, chimney smoke trapped under glass domes. In one corner, etched with bold lettering, he saw the label: “Infernal Cold.”
“Good day,” said Thomas, summoning his courage. “My father sent me here. I need a quarter of Infernal Cold. Can you sell me that amount?”
The merchant regarded him carefully.
“Well, well!” exclaimed Clara Snowgust. “A quarter of Infernal Cold, is it? Do you know what you are asking for, young man?”
Thomas gulped, but spoke earnestly, “My father needs it to finish a magical sculpture, one that will bring spring to our frozen village.”
Clara smiled. She retrieved a sealed jar containing a strange, shimmering powder. “Infernal Cold,” she explained, “must be measured precisely. A quarter means exactly one-fourth of the jar’s contents. No more, no less. Too much, and it would freeze even the warmth of the sun. Too little, and it would lack the strength to complete the enchantment.”
Thomas watched in awe as she carefully measured the powder. The scale dipped and balanced as she removed just the right amount. The fractions gradually approached one-fourth of the total. Satisfied, she tipped the exact quarter of Infernal Cold into a small crystal box and handed it to him.
“Here you are,” said Clara Snowgust. “Your quarter of Infernal Cold. But before you go, let me share something with you. The word ‘quarter’ can mean many things: a fraction of a whole, the fourth element in a sequence, or even a type of room or lodging. You’ve had to understand all these meanings to reach me. Remember, language holds mysteries as surely as these halls hold ice. When you return home, keep in mind that words, like the world around us, have secret layers waiting to be discovered.”
Thomas nodded, grateful for her wisdom. He tucked the crystal box into his satchel and made his way back through the corridors, out the main gate, and down the mountain path. Though the wind still howled and the snow still drifted, he felt a growing warmth inside—pride in overcoming difficulties and excitement at the thought of helping his father bring new life to their village.
When Thomas arrived home, his father greeted him with a weary but hopeful smile. At the sight of the quarter of Infernal Cold, his father’s eyes glimmered with determination. He wasted no time. Through the night, the artisan carefully mixed the Infernal Cold with fresh meltwater and sculpted the magical figure. At daybreak, the finished statue shimmered with a pale blue glow. Suddenly, a gentle warmth spread through the streets, melting the frost clinging to windows, awakening long-dormant seeds beneath the icy soil, and coaxing birds to sing once more.
“Well done, my son,” said his father, placing an affectionate hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “You have shown courage and learned an important lesson. ‘Quarter’ is not just a measure; it can be the fourth item, or a room, or so many other things. Your understanding of these meanings helped us find what we needed.”
Thomas smiled, feeling the sun’s timid warmth on his cheeks. He had discovered that words, much like the landscapes of his world, are filled with hidden wonders. From that day on, in the village beneath the icy mountains, they no longer feared the Infernal Cold. They knew now that with a bit of understanding, courage, and creativity, even the most daunting of challenges could be overcome—and the blossoms of spring would return once again.