_Atatakai Otoko
(This is based on a Japanese folktale called Yuki Onna, or Snow Woman.)
It was a day made just for her. An early frost, a night so cold. As she came down from her dreary mountain top, the path froze in front of her. “Free again,” she whispered on the wind. It was only just November and already she was able to descend from her cold mountain cave. She offered a snowy prayer to her father, the god of the wind, for giving her such a rare gift.
She wandered slowly down the mountain side, the wind running ahead of her, the snow keeping pace. Now and then she would touch the needles of a cedar bough and feel the life retreating. She came across an owl that hadn’t taken shelter and felt its life fade at her touch. She found mice and other small creatures, but their life force was so small she almost didn’t feel it. She hoped to find a bear, for their spark was so powerful, the feeling of it lasted for days. But she rarely found a bear, they were too smart to be caught unawares by an early winter storm and were deep in their caves, slumbering the winter away.
The storm was icy and strong, so she could wander as she pleased. As the evening deepened, she found no limits and could travel as far as the sea if she chose. “What a wonderful beginning,” she whispered to the snow, “a whole winter to look forward to.”
As she wandered lower and lower, she started to come across signs of human habitation. An outbuilding here or there, a trail through the trees. Unconsciously, she began to follow one such trail. It led her to a village, very small, with only a dozen or so buildings. She took extra care to frost the roofs. She resented humans, the warmest life of all, for hiding away behind their wooden and stone houses. She rarely got one and that made her sad for reasons she could not explain.
The night was still new and the freezing storm had no intention of abating, so she wandered on. She came to a river and slowed its way. As she was crossing the frost crusted top, she felt the life of a human, no two humans--one strong and one weak--inside a small hut on the other side of the river.
“At last!” They must have gotten trapped on the wrong side of the river when the storm came up. The small hut was not well built and the latch to the door was broken. The humans had tried to block it shut, but it still banged open and close, riding the wind as she did.
Inside the small room were two males, one old and feeble, the other young and strong, very strong. They lay together, huddled back-to-back for imagined warmth.
She went to the old man and took his spark, but it was very weak, almost as small as a squirrel’s. That was no fun at all. Yet there remained the younger male. She stood for a moment, looking at his form. It confused her for it was a very nice looking form. Young and muscled, his warmth was almost overbearing to her. Never had she found a life source so heavy, a body so imbued with spirit.
Sensing something, whether the death of the old man or herself, the young man turned to look over his shoulder. Fascinated, she found his face to be very pleasing as well. It took him a moment to focus in the darkness of the hut. When he did, his eyes grew large with fear at the sight of her. Yet she stared on, transfixed and confused.
She reached towards the man, but hesitated, her fingers a hands width away. Why did she hesitate? This man’s spark would stay with her for a long time. It would feed her, nourish her, but she could not bring herself to do it.
The pair stared at one another in the darkness. He could see her! He could see her clearly! That never happened. She felt like fleeing, except that his dark eyes held her transfixed, just as she held him. She felt so vulnerable, as if a doorway to her inner self had been opened. Then from a part of herself she did not know came words the human would understand. “Do not speak of this to anyone.” And she left through the banging door as quickly as she could.
#
It was the coldest winter that anyone living in the area of the west side of the mountain could remember. The villages there suffered terribly, but the cold was unrelenting. The woodcutter’s apprentice suffered the cold most of all. When he was found the morning after the first frost, he was barely alive. The woodcutter was completely frozen. The apprentice was nursed back to health by his mother, but his convalescence was slow.
The lady of snow visited the west side of the mountain many times that winter. Usually for her the winter is a time for exploring new places, meeting with her sisters, reveling in the cold. Yet this year, she did very little of that. Instead she made a pilgrimage to the village where the woodcutter’s apprentice lived. His mother took good care of him and the house was kept very warm to aid his recovery, so she could hardly ever get a look at him. When she was close to his home, she could feel his health, his warmth, his enduring life. Without understanding why, or even bothering to ask, she found herself craving it. Not just wanting to take it, which would be very simple, she wanted to be near it.
And she did take many lives that winter. Spending so much time in the village, made the cold that much worse for the villagers. There were several people who were at the end of their lives and a few at the beginning. She even caught out a lone farmer in the prime of health. It did much for her to have so much human life that winter.
The seasons, sometimes longer sometimes shorter, keep their own schedule, and one day she found, as she neared his village, that where she stepped frost did not follow. Her winter was coming to a close and soon she would be forced to stay in her mountain peak home, safe from the sun. Her heart grew heavy at the thought. Then, even though it cost her much strength, she continued on to the village, the warming earth beneath her feet feeding on her strength. She had to see him once more before spring closed in.
She was despondent when she returned up the mountain. She hid herself away in her cave at the top of the mountain and every day Spring climbed even higher and Winter retreated. Feeling her alternatives dwindle with the snow, she decided to seek council. Not from her sisters, nor her father, but from the old witch. The old witch was rumored to have been human once. She hoped to find knowledge of what ailed her and a cure.
The witch could be found several mountains away and the travel was slow. She had to rest for long periods during the day and when she came across a patch of land where Spring had fully set in, she had to make long detours. After many days of travel, she arrived at the home of the witch. Its entrance was through a jumble of boulders which led to a bright green glade that was sheltered on all sides by high cliffs and tall trees. She wondered that anything could grow in such a place and began to worry about her own safety so removed from the cold. When she felt a cool tingling of magic and knew this place to be beyond the seasons.
She found the witch towards the back of the glade in a cave mouth. She was very wrinkled and stooped and she stood stirring a kettle over a large fire. Instinctually, she flinched from its bright flame, but she had come this far and she would not turn coward. The old woman saw her then, her face showing surprise. Immediately the witch waved at the fire, mumbling a few words and the flames dwindled to a deep blue.
“Welcome, Snow Maiden, I’ve never seen one of your kind in my home.” The witch pulled a string, one of dozens, from a branch then took it to the frost maiden and offered her the string which had a charm attached. “This should ease you.”
She picked up the charm from the old woman and immediately felt as she should. “Thank you witch.”
“Now what can an old woman like myself do for you? I’m sure you haven’t come all this way for something trifling.” The witch expressed true interest, she could see that, but there was something else in the tone of voice that told her that she really ought not to waste any time of this old witch.
“Madame, I seem to be enchanted by a spell cast by a human. I understand nothing of such things, but am suffering terribly for it. I came to you to find knowledge of the spell and to find the cure for it.”
“A spell you say? How interesting. I did not know there was another practitioner of my arts nearby. Now, tell me all that you have experienced and I will tell you how to fix it.”
She told the old woman of the winter she had just spent, of the man and his life, of the countless hours she had spent trying to see him again. When she was finished, she felt something quite new to her. She felt embarrassed and she hid her face under her sleeve.
The old woman began to chuckle as the tale was told, and by the end of it was truly laughing. This did nothing to abate the snow maiden’s embarrassment and she felt as if she must run away.
“Oh child, you have not been bewitched,” the witch said merrily, “at least not intentionally. You have fallen in love with the young man. Love is the emotion that mortals have for one another.”
“This is a curse! I’m certain of it. To be infected with this emotion, how is it possible?” she demanded.
“All is possible in this universe, my dear,” said the witch. “You’ve been lucky so far that nothing like this has disturbed you during the thousands of turning seasons that you have been protecting your mountain. And such a little thing as love, really, it can’t do you much harm.”
“Please explain to me what is this love.”
So the old witch explained that love is what united a people, it’s what parents and children experienced with each other, what brought couples together to be man and wife. As the witch explained, the snow maiden imagined what it would be like to touch the young man, feel his warm skin, to know him. When the witch was finished with her description, she declared, “I wish to know that human as his wife.”
The witch was surprised by the vehemence by which the snow maiden expressed her desire and nearly scoffed, but the witch was wise enough to know that a snow maiden is not to be trifled with even if Spring was nearby.
“My dear that would mean you would have to be human, at least for a while. For no man could withstand your touch for very long.”
She deflated. It was true and she knew it to be so. Had always known it. But to be human? That was too much, too large a sacrifice even for this thing called love that afflicted her so. The witch saw how disturbed she was and reached out a hand as if to give her a comforting pat, but held back from touching the figure who was the embodiment of cold.
“Tell me witch, is being a human awful?”
“Not always,” the witch smiled softly, “You feel hunger and pain, but pleasure and happiness are enough to make it worthwhile.”
“If I became a human, could I turn back into myself whenever I wished it?”
“The spell I know would allow you to be a human for any length of time that you wished, but once you return to you true form, you could not change back again.”
“How long do humans live? How many seasons?”
“Oh, forty to seventy winters. It depends on the human.”
“And the man?”
“If he is young, as you say, perhaps forty winters more, if he’s in good health”
She fell into a silence then, her mind faraway. The witch returned to her pot and continued with her business. After some time, she spoke again.
“What do I need to do?”
“So you have decided then?” She nodded. “It will take me a week to make the potion.” The witch consulted a wide scroll hung against a rock. “You are lucky we are near the new moon for I need the full dark to create such a thing.”
The old witch got down to business, “Now, we must talk payment, for as you know every action has a price.” She bustled around her work area pulling down different flasks and dried plants. “What do you have that you could trade for my potion?”
She thought about it, but didn’t know if any of her possessions had the sort of value the witch was talking about. “I have the gifts from my mother and father and grandfather. I have my robes.” She indicated to clothing she was wearing. She didn’t mention that magic that kept her safe in her mountain top home. That was too precious to risk even speaking of.
“What are these gifts that you have?”
“From my grandfather, the moon, I have my blanket of midnight that I use to sleep during the long summer hours. From my father, the north wind, I have my cloak of wind which aides me in my duties. From my mother, the sea, I have a robe of sea water that is lovely to behold.” She didn’t add that it was her least favorite thing, for while beautiful to watch its constant movement, it was uncomfortable to wear and it became stiff and immobile once it touched her skin.
“Nothing from your grandmother then?”
“No, I cannot meet her, for I would surely diminish in the face of the sun.”
“True, true. Well, my dear, those are some rare gifts that you have. Indeed, any one of them would pay for my potion and for my counsel as well. Go fetch one of those three for me and return in six days’ time. I will have the potion ready for you then.”
She turned to leave, but hesitated, “I may be longer than six days. With Spring nigh on us, my travel is slow. It took me nearly four to travel here.”
“Travel will be no worry for you, my dear, as long as you have that charm with you. It will allow you to travel as if it were still high Winter.”
She left without another word, hurrying towards her home. Her excitement did not fade the whole of her journey. On the way to her home and back to the witch’s, she detoured to the man’s village. She saw him at his doorway, his health was much improved. The sight of him made her burn with happiness and desire. It filled her with new resolve.
On the sixth day she returned to the witch’s glen. The old woman was nowhere in sight. She went to the cave mouth and found inside only a young woman who sat on a low bench sewing some cloth.
“Right on time,” the young woman began.
“Where is the witch? I was to meet her today.”
The young woman smiled engagingly, for she was beautiful. “My dear, it is me you are looking for.” The young woman bit off the thread with which she was sewing. “My form changes with the waxing and waning of the moon. As the dark of the moon has just past, you see me now in my youthful form.”
“That must be very inconvenient.”
The witch sighed and shook out the cloth. “It can be. But as you know, there is a price for everything, and this is the price I must pay.”
“Now, what have you brought for me?”
She pulled from her sleeve the robe of sea water. It was frozen solid in its folded form.
The young witch frowned. “That doesn’t look like much, but looks aren’t everything.”
The snow maiden placed the stiff robe on the table between them. As soon as she stopped touching it, the frost began to fade and the stiff folds became loose, so that in just a few seconds, the cloth ran like tide water with just the same translucent blue green color.
“Oh my! Now that is something to look at.”
“I said that it was very pretty to look at. It only has a little magic in it. Some of my mother’s control of the tides.” She didn’t think very much of moving water kinds of magic.
“Indeed, so little a thing as controlling the tides,” the young witch suppressed a smile. “What a trifling thing.”
“Do you have the potion ready? I’m eager to see my human in flesh form.”
“Aye, aye, it is. And a great deal more. For you see, humans have many customs and many needs. If you are going to pass as a real human you will need to understand some things.”
She grew impatient, “Being a human cannot be very hard, for they are such simple things.”
“Yes, we are, but did you know that humans need to eat food several times a day in order to not perish?”
“Eat? You mean they feed like mere animals?”
“Well, not quite as animals. They cook their food so that is more than just feeding. And you must wear proper clothing, in a way that will not bring unwanted attention.” The witch shook out her bolt of cloth again and laid it across the table. She could see now that it was a costume of some sort.
“This belonged to my daughter, when she was alive, many long years ago. I shall give it to you to wear and you can bear her name as well. Her name was Mei.”
Mei reached out for the cloth. It was very pretty, in a simple way, with bright pinks and blues in a pattern. “This looks like the things that human ladies put over their skin. This will do for me, I think, as well.”
“Yes it will. I’ve done some work on it so that it doesn’t look too old fashioned. I have also made you this charm,” the witch held out a leather thong that held a spiral shell. “In it I’ve placed some of my knowledge of human customs and ideas.”
“Now, I think it is time for you to take the potion and learn to dress and feed yourself. We’ll teach you that today and tomorrow morning I will go with you to the edge of my forest to see you on your way.”
Mei nodded, suddenly feeling very frightened. So much preparation seemed formidable and she was beginning to have doubts. Then she thought of the bright spark of life that her human held and her desire to be near it clouded the fear until it was blotted out.
The witch took up a small bowl filled with cloudy liquid. Turning to Mei she said, “Once you have taken this, you will have little of your power. You might have some control at keeping frost at bay, but you will find yourself averse to cold. You may change back anytime by your will. However, if any human speaks to you of your true form, it will also break the spell and you will immediately return to yourself.”
Mei showed her agreement.
“Now, take this quickly before it has time to freeze.”
She took the potion and felt herself burn with cold. A frost so cold it pained her. But in moments, the frost turned to burning and she watched as her arms and hands became flesh, turning from pale gray to warm brown with a rosy pink glow. Then she felt tingling and an odd sensation that was the opposite of her usual self. She felt warm.
Marveling at her new form, her own spark of life, she spent the following hours learning how to tie knots, cook rice and beans and fish, eat with utensils, comb and tie her hair, and many things more. She learned about money and the witch gave her a small purse filled with coins. So strange a thing, she thought, but everything was strange to her now.
She was exhausted by nightfall--another thing new to her. She had always slept when she felt like it, not for any feeling of tiredness. She slept during the summer to conserve her energy, for the light and heat made her feel weak. But feeling weak was nothing to the sheer tiredness she experienced her first day as human. She found it uncomfortable being tied to such a rigid little body. It did not always bend the way she wanted, nor move in the directions she wished.
It was all quite bothersome, but she would be able to be close to her human now and feel his warmth without taking it away from him. She would be able to touch him.
The next morning the witch and Mei set off. It was slow going, for Mei did not know how to use her own legs. During the long hours of walking, Mei observed how the witch’s form changed subtlety during the day, so that by nightfall, the witch was no longer a young woman, but a woman in her prime. She talked to Mei all day, telling her human stories and little odds and ends of things she might need to know.
That night, the witch made a camp for them both and continued telling stories to Mei. As exhausted as she was, Mei wanted to hear more, for the witch was a persuasive story teller and made every tale very interesting. But she did fall asleep, for her body would not obey her. When she woke the witch was gone and she was on her own.
It took her nearly a week to get near to the village of her young man. She had had to stop in several villages and one town along the way for food. It was very disorienting to be near so many humans and, at first, uncomfortable. However, she got used to it with practice. She found that many humans had a bright spark, as her young man did, but none were quite the same as him.
Drawing close to the village, she grew nervous and worried. How would she find the boy? How would she talk to him? She found a quiet spot away from the road, among the trees she so lovingly frosted only weeks before, to think about how she would meet her young man. After a long while, as the sun was sinking towards the horizon, she had no thoughts on what she should do. Human thinking was still awkward for her, but she had to go on. She had to at least touch him once before returning to her form.
As she made the road, the strap on her shoe broke. The witch had showed her how to tie the shoe on, but had not shown her what to do when the string was too short to retie. She felt stranded and alone. She knew that humans did not go around in their stockings, but what else could she do? Just then, a man was coming along the road behind her. He shouted a greeting. Bending over her shoe, she looked back and wobbled unsteadily as she found herself being spoken to by the young man.
“Hello,” she said shyly.
“Is everything alright Miss?” he asked. He set down a large bundle of wood and looked at her in wonder. She was beautiful, almost uncannily beautiful.
“My . . . my shoe broke,” she answered, still only taking quick glances at him.
“Here, let me look at it.” And he knelt down, glad to be able to do something besides stare. However, he was nearly speechless when confronted by her pretty feet and ankles. “I have some spare string,” he choked out. “It’s not very pretty, but it will hold you for a while. How far are you going?”
Here she knew what to say. As the witch had instructed her, she told the boy that she was on the way to the city to find her aunt who was in service to a great man there. She told him that her parents, fisher folk, had died during the cold winter and she had no one else.
“Well, that is very far and it is getting late. Why don’t you come to my home and my mother will fix your shoe better than I can? We do not have much, but you are welcome to stay with us for the night.” The young man rose as he spoke, but his eyes never left the ground.
“Thank you very much. I’d like that.”
She walked with him towards his village, each keeping a respectful distance. When their path crossed a narrow bridge, he went ahead of her and offered her his hand. She accepted it and the feeling of his warmth, his life, nearly toppled her over the side anyway. She marveled at being able to touch him without harming him and she found she longed to touch him with more than her hand.
His mother greeted her with warmth and soon had her shoe fixed properly. Mei helped to make dinner, feeling gratitude for the old witch’s hasty tutorial and thoughtfulness. She shared a room with the old woman and somehow they all found an excuse for her to stay the next day and the day after that. After nearly a week, the old mother asked her to stay as her son’s wife. She accepted.
#
The winters in the village were always very temperate after that harsh winter that took the life of so many. The town prospered, but no one more than the wood cutter’s family. Everyone wondered and gossiped about his extraordinary good fortune after nearly dying at the outset of that brutally cold winter. He transformed his wood collecting business by adding a kiln to their household and was now also a merchant of charcoal. He had become one of the leaders of the village and was considered very sage in advice he handed out. His mother had lived to a very old age in very good health. He had found himself the most beautiful wife who was industrious and fecund. More than a few men of the village were quite jealous, for even after bearing ten healthy, energetic children, she was still as lovely as a girl.
For all the good fortune of her family, to Mei it meant very little. What she wanted today was the same as she had wanted all the years she had known her husband, just to be close to the wood cutter. His life spark, his warmth never faded or withered.
She always knew deep in her heart what she really was, but over the years she had nearly forgotten what it was like to walk the forests during the frosting months. She nearly forgot that she was really so cold that, in her true form, she would kill her children just by touching them. She loved her children, just as she loved her husband, a feeling so warm she felt like it might melt the icy core within her.
One quiet night in early fall, she sat working by the fire. Her oldest children were at home with their own families, her younger children worked nearby. Her husband sat across the room mending tools. It was the kind of night she loved best, when all were busy and quiet, but comfortable in each other’s company.
She noticed, after a time, her husband watching her closely. She smiled at him. “What is it?” she asked.
“You look so beautiful with your eyes cast down over your work,” he sighed. She felt her face reddening. “You remind of something I saw that cold winter before I met you.”
Mei froze. He couldn’t be bringing that up. Not now, not after all these years. Not when she wasn’t ready for it. “I don’t see how that could be since we hadn’t even met. Did you remember to tell your workers that they’ll get a half day off on festival day?” She tried to deflect his thoughts.
“Yes, of course. They were very happy to hear it,” the wood cutter replied. He fell silent again and Mei held her breath hoping he was done with the topic.
“The night when the old wood cutter died, my beloved master, is when I saw her,” he continued not looking up, just steadily mending his tools.
“You needn’t speak of it,” she said, interrupting him in a tone more harsh than she meant to speak.
“I saw the most amazing sight. A woman came into the fisher’s hut where we had taken refuge,” he had caught the attention of his children who sensed a story they had never heard before. He took no notice of his wife now. She sat across from him, her face freezing into anger.
“My old master was sickly and quickly succumb to the cold, but I stayed awake, shivering to the bone. It was a long time before I saw her.” Mei was frantic. How could she stop him from speaking without the story being revealed? Her muscles and thoughts were frozen, not from the cold but from the fear.
“The door slammed open and there was a woman of the snow. Gusts of snow and frost blew around her like she was the center of the storm. She went to the old man and watched him for some time. Her eyes were downcast and she was beautiful in a terrifying way. You looked like her just now, dear, and reminded me ...” the wood cutter looked up to see his wife of a lifetime hovering above the table.
“I told you to never speak of it,” she cried in a terrible voice. “If it weren’t for these children who cower now from their mother, I would kill you now. Take care of my children and let no harm befall them or it will be you that will pay.”
An icy gale slammed into the house, rattling the shutters and filtering through the wooden walls. With the gale the once-mother to the children in the house, the once-wife to the woodcutter, rode the wind out of the house and far, far away.
#
The winters in the little village soon got a reputation for being the coldest of any. The winter months were always cold and full of snow, yet only one person ever perished from the cold. The little village grew into a thriving, prosperous town. The only person to be taken by a winter frost was an old wood cutter who had become wildly successful and had a large family. He died on a dead cold night, as he lay coughing out his last on his pallet. When no one was watching, he went outside and was found lifeless and frozen solid the following morning.
For those in the village, they knew that he had once almost died from the frost when he was a young man. And nearly all were superstitious that perhaps he couldn’t escape that fate forever.
(This is based on a Japanese folktale called Yuki Onna, or Snow Woman.)
It was a day made just for her. An early frost, a night so cold. As she came down from her dreary mountain top, the path froze in front of her. “Free again,” she whispered on the wind. It was only just November and already she was able to descend from her cold mountain cave. She offered a snowy prayer to her father, the god of the wind, for giving her such a rare gift.
She wandered slowly down the mountain side, the wind running ahead of her, the snow keeping pace. Now and then she would touch the needles of a cedar bough and feel the life retreating. She came across an owl that hadn’t taken shelter and felt its life fade at her touch. She found mice and other small creatures, but their life force was so small she almost didn’t feel it. She hoped to find a bear, for their spark was so powerful, the feeling of it lasted for days. But she rarely found a bear, they were too smart to be caught unawares by an early winter storm and were deep in their caves, slumbering the winter away.
The storm was icy and strong, so she could wander as she pleased. As the evening deepened, she found no limits and could travel as far as the sea if she chose. “What a wonderful beginning,” she whispered to the snow, “a whole winter to look forward to.”
As she wandered lower and lower, she started to come across signs of human habitation. An outbuilding here or there, a trail through the trees. Unconsciously, she began to follow one such trail. It led her to a village, very small, with only a dozen or so buildings. She took extra care to frost the roofs. She resented humans, the warmest life of all, for hiding away behind their wooden and stone houses. She rarely got one and that made her sad for reasons she could not explain.
The night was still new and the freezing storm had no intention of abating, so she wandered on. She came to a river and slowed its way. As she was crossing the frost crusted top, she felt the life of a human, no two humans--one strong and one weak--inside a small hut on the other side of the river.
“At last!” They must have gotten trapped on the wrong side of the river when the storm came up. The small hut was not well built and the latch to the door was broken. The humans had tried to block it shut, but it still banged open and close, riding the wind as she did.
Inside the small room were two males, one old and feeble, the other young and strong, very strong. They lay together, huddled back-to-back for imagined warmth.
She went to the old man and took his spark, but it was very weak, almost as small as a squirrel’s. That was no fun at all. Yet there remained the younger male. She stood for a moment, looking at his form. It confused her for it was a very nice looking form. Young and muscled, his warmth was almost overbearing to her. Never had she found a life source so heavy, a body so imbued with spirit.
Sensing something, whether the death of the old man or herself, the young man turned to look over his shoulder. Fascinated, she found his face to be very pleasing as well. It took him a moment to focus in the darkness of the hut. When he did, his eyes grew large with fear at the sight of her. Yet she stared on, transfixed and confused.
She reached towards the man, but hesitated, her fingers a hands width away. Why did she hesitate? This man’s spark would stay with her for a long time. It would feed her, nourish her, but she could not bring herself to do it.
The pair stared at one another in the darkness. He could see her! He could see her clearly! That never happened. She felt like fleeing, except that his dark eyes held her transfixed, just as she held him. She felt so vulnerable, as if a doorway to her inner self had been opened. Then from a part of herself she did not know came words the human would understand. “Do not speak of this to anyone.” And she left through the banging door as quickly as she could.
#
It was the coldest winter that anyone living in the area of the west side of the mountain could remember. The villages there suffered terribly, but the cold was unrelenting. The woodcutter’s apprentice suffered the cold most of all. When he was found the morning after the first frost, he was barely alive. The woodcutter was completely frozen. The apprentice was nursed back to health by his mother, but his convalescence was slow.
The lady of snow visited the west side of the mountain many times that winter. Usually for her the winter is a time for exploring new places, meeting with her sisters, reveling in the cold. Yet this year, she did very little of that. Instead she made a pilgrimage to the village where the woodcutter’s apprentice lived. His mother took good care of him and the house was kept very warm to aid his recovery, so she could hardly ever get a look at him. When she was close to his home, she could feel his health, his warmth, his enduring life. Without understanding why, or even bothering to ask, she found herself craving it. Not just wanting to take it, which would be very simple, she wanted to be near it.
And she did take many lives that winter. Spending so much time in the village, made the cold that much worse for the villagers. There were several people who were at the end of their lives and a few at the beginning. She even caught out a lone farmer in the prime of health. It did much for her to have so much human life that winter.
The seasons, sometimes longer sometimes shorter, keep their own schedule, and one day she found, as she neared his village, that where she stepped frost did not follow. Her winter was coming to a close and soon she would be forced to stay in her mountain peak home, safe from the sun. Her heart grew heavy at the thought. Then, even though it cost her much strength, she continued on to the village, the warming earth beneath her feet feeding on her strength. She had to see him once more before spring closed in.
She was despondent when she returned up the mountain. She hid herself away in her cave at the top of the mountain and every day Spring climbed even higher and Winter retreated. Feeling her alternatives dwindle with the snow, she decided to seek council. Not from her sisters, nor her father, but from the old witch. The old witch was rumored to have been human once. She hoped to find knowledge of what ailed her and a cure.
The witch could be found several mountains away and the travel was slow. She had to rest for long periods during the day and when she came across a patch of land where Spring had fully set in, she had to make long detours. After many days of travel, she arrived at the home of the witch. Its entrance was through a jumble of boulders which led to a bright green glade that was sheltered on all sides by high cliffs and tall trees. She wondered that anything could grow in such a place and began to worry about her own safety so removed from the cold. When she felt a cool tingling of magic and knew this place to be beyond the seasons.
She found the witch towards the back of the glade in a cave mouth. She was very wrinkled and stooped and she stood stirring a kettle over a large fire. Instinctually, she flinched from its bright flame, but she had come this far and she would not turn coward. The old woman saw her then, her face showing surprise. Immediately the witch waved at the fire, mumbling a few words and the flames dwindled to a deep blue.
“Welcome, Snow Maiden, I’ve never seen one of your kind in my home.” The witch pulled a string, one of dozens, from a branch then took it to the frost maiden and offered her the string which had a charm attached. “This should ease you.”
She picked up the charm from the old woman and immediately felt as she should. “Thank you witch.”
“Now what can an old woman like myself do for you? I’m sure you haven’t come all this way for something trifling.” The witch expressed true interest, she could see that, but there was something else in the tone of voice that told her that she really ought not to waste any time of this old witch.
“Madame, I seem to be enchanted by a spell cast by a human. I understand nothing of such things, but am suffering terribly for it. I came to you to find knowledge of the spell and to find the cure for it.”
“A spell you say? How interesting. I did not know there was another practitioner of my arts nearby. Now, tell me all that you have experienced and I will tell you how to fix it.”
She told the old woman of the winter she had just spent, of the man and his life, of the countless hours she had spent trying to see him again. When she was finished, she felt something quite new to her. She felt embarrassed and she hid her face under her sleeve.
The old woman began to chuckle as the tale was told, and by the end of it was truly laughing. This did nothing to abate the snow maiden’s embarrassment and she felt as if she must run away.
“Oh child, you have not been bewitched,” the witch said merrily, “at least not intentionally. You have fallen in love with the young man. Love is the emotion that mortals have for one another.”
“This is a curse! I’m certain of it. To be infected with this emotion, how is it possible?” she demanded.
“All is possible in this universe, my dear,” said the witch. “You’ve been lucky so far that nothing like this has disturbed you during the thousands of turning seasons that you have been protecting your mountain. And such a little thing as love, really, it can’t do you much harm.”
“Please explain to me what is this love.”
So the old witch explained that love is what united a people, it’s what parents and children experienced with each other, what brought couples together to be man and wife. As the witch explained, the snow maiden imagined what it would be like to touch the young man, feel his warm skin, to know him. When the witch was finished with her description, she declared, “I wish to know that human as his wife.”
The witch was surprised by the vehemence by which the snow maiden expressed her desire and nearly scoffed, but the witch was wise enough to know that a snow maiden is not to be trifled with even if Spring was nearby.
“My dear that would mean you would have to be human, at least for a while. For no man could withstand your touch for very long.”
She deflated. It was true and she knew it to be so. Had always known it. But to be human? That was too much, too large a sacrifice even for this thing called love that afflicted her so. The witch saw how disturbed she was and reached out a hand as if to give her a comforting pat, but held back from touching the figure who was the embodiment of cold.
“Tell me witch, is being a human awful?”
“Not always,” the witch smiled softly, “You feel hunger and pain, but pleasure and happiness are enough to make it worthwhile.”
“If I became a human, could I turn back into myself whenever I wished it?”
“The spell I know would allow you to be a human for any length of time that you wished, but once you return to you true form, you could not change back again.”
“How long do humans live? How many seasons?”
“Oh, forty to seventy winters. It depends on the human.”
“And the man?”
“If he is young, as you say, perhaps forty winters more, if he’s in good health”
She fell into a silence then, her mind faraway. The witch returned to her pot and continued with her business. After some time, she spoke again.
“What do I need to do?”
“So you have decided then?” She nodded. “It will take me a week to make the potion.” The witch consulted a wide scroll hung against a rock. “You are lucky we are near the new moon for I need the full dark to create such a thing.”
The old witch got down to business, “Now, we must talk payment, for as you know every action has a price.” She bustled around her work area pulling down different flasks and dried plants. “What do you have that you could trade for my potion?”
She thought about it, but didn’t know if any of her possessions had the sort of value the witch was talking about. “I have the gifts from my mother and father and grandfather. I have my robes.” She indicated to clothing she was wearing. She didn’t mention that magic that kept her safe in her mountain top home. That was too precious to risk even speaking of.
“What are these gifts that you have?”
“From my grandfather, the moon, I have my blanket of midnight that I use to sleep during the long summer hours. From my father, the north wind, I have my cloak of wind which aides me in my duties. From my mother, the sea, I have a robe of sea water that is lovely to behold.” She didn’t add that it was her least favorite thing, for while beautiful to watch its constant movement, it was uncomfortable to wear and it became stiff and immobile once it touched her skin.
“Nothing from your grandmother then?”
“No, I cannot meet her, for I would surely diminish in the face of the sun.”
“True, true. Well, my dear, those are some rare gifts that you have. Indeed, any one of them would pay for my potion and for my counsel as well. Go fetch one of those three for me and return in six days’ time. I will have the potion ready for you then.”
She turned to leave, but hesitated, “I may be longer than six days. With Spring nigh on us, my travel is slow. It took me nearly four to travel here.”
“Travel will be no worry for you, my dear, as long as you have that charm with you. It will allow you to travel as if it were still high Winter.”
She left without another word, hurrying towards her home. Her excitement did not fade the whole of her journey. On the way to her home and back to the witch’s, she detoured to the man’s village. She saw him at his doorway, his health was much improved. The sight of him made her burn with happiness and desire. It filled her with new resolve.
On the sixth day she returned to the witch’s glen. The old woman was nowhere in sight. She went to the cave mouth and found inside only a young woman who sat on a low bench sewing some cloth.
“Right on time,” the young woman began.
“Where is the witch? I was to meet her today.”
The young woman smiled engagingly, for she was beautiful. “My dear, it is me you are looking for.” The young woman bit off the thread with which she was sewing. “My form changes with the waxing and waning of the moon. As the dark of the moon has just past, you see me now in my youthful form.”
“That must be very inconvenient.”
The witch sighed and shook out the cloth. “It can be. But as you know, there is a price for everything, and this is the price I must pay.”
“Now, what have you brought for me?”
She pulled from her sleeve the robe of sea water. It was frozen solid in its folded form.
The young witch frowned. “That doesn’t look like much, but looks aren’t everything.”
The snow maiden placed the stiff robe on the table between them. As soon as she stopped touching it, the frost began to fade and the stiff folds became loose, so that in just a few seconds, the cloth ran like tide water with just the same translucent blue green color.
“Oh my! Now that is something to look at.”
“I said that it was very pretty to look at. It only has a little magic in it. Some of my mother’s control of the tides.” She didn’t think very much of moving water kinds of magic.
“Indeed, so little a thing as controlling the tides,” the young witch suppressed a smile. “What a trifling thing.”
“Do you have the potion ready? I’m eager to see my human in flesh form.”
“Aye, aye, it is. And a great deal more. For you see, humans have many customs and many needs. If you are going to pass as a real human you will need to understand some things.”
She grew impatient, “Being a human cannot be very hard, for they are such simple things.”
“Yes, we are, but did you know that humans need to eat food several times a day in order to not perish?”
“Eat? You mean they feed like mere animals?”
“Well, not quite as animals. They cook their food so that is more than just feeding. And you must wear proper clothing, in a way that will not bring unwanted attention.” The witch shook out her bolt of cloth again and laid it across the table. She could see now that it was a costume of some sort.
“This belonged to my daughter, when she was alive, many long years ago. I shall give it to you to wear and you can bear her name as well. Her name was Mei.”
Mei reached out for the cloth. It was very pretty, in a simple way, with bright pinks and blues in a pattern. “This looks like the things that human ladies put over their skin. This will do for me, I think, as well.”
“Yes it will. I’ve done some work on it so that it doesn’t look too old fashioned. I have also made you this charm,” the witch held out a leather thong that held a spiral shell. “In it I’ve placed some of my knowledge of human customs and ideas.”
“Now, I think it is time for you to take the potion and learn to dress and feed yourself. We’ll teach you that today and tomorrow morning I will go with you to the edge of my forest to see you on your way.”
Mei nodded, suddenly feeling very frightened. So much preparation seemed formidable and she was beginning to have doubts. Then she thought of the bright spark of life that her human held and her desire to be near it clouded the fear until it was blotted out.
The witch took up a small bowl filled with cloudy liquid. Turning to Mei she said, “Once you have taken this, you will have little of your power. You might have some control at keeping frost at bay, but you will find yourself averse to cold. You may change back anytime by your will. However, if any human speaks to you of your true form, it will also break the spell and you will immediately return to yourself.”
Mei showed her agreement.
“Now, take this quickly before it has time to freeze.”
She took the potion and felt herself burn with cold. A frost so cold it pained her. But in moments, the frost turned to burning and she watched as her arms and hands became flesh, turning from pale gray to warm brown with a rosy pink glow. Then she felt tingling and an odd sensation that was the opposite of her usual self. She felt warm.
Marveling at her new form, her own spark of life, she spent the following hours learning how to tie knots, cook rice and beans and fish, eat with utensils, comb and tie her hair, and many things more. She learned about money and the witch gave her a small purse filled with coins. So strange a thing, she thought, but everything was strange to her now.
She was exhausted by nightfall--another thing new to her. She had always slept when she felt like it, not for any feeling of tiredness. She slept during the summer to conserve her energy, for the light and heat made her feel weak. But feeling weak was nothing to the sheer tiredness she experienced her first day as human. She found it uncomfortable being tied to such a rigid little body. It did not always bend the way she wanted, nor move in the directions she wished.
It was all quite bothersome, but she would be able to be close to her human now and feel his warmth without taking it away from him. She would be able to touch him.
The next morning the witch and Mei set off. It was slow going, for Mei did not know how to use her own legs. During the long hours of walking, Mei observed how the witch’s form changed subtlety during the day, so that by nightfall, the witch was no longer a young woman, but a woman in her prime. She talked to Mei all day, telling her human stories and little odds and ends of things she might need to know.
That night, the witch made a camp for them both and continued telling stories to Mei. As exhausted as she was, Mei wanted to hear more, for the witch was a persuasive story teller and made every tale very interesting. But she did fall asleep, for her body would not obey her. When she woke the witch was gone and she was on her own.
It took her nearly a week to get near to the village of her young man. She had had to stop in several villages and one town along the way for food. It was very disorienting to be near so many humans and, at first, uncomfortable. However, she got used to it with practice. She found that many humans had a bright spark, as her young man did, but none were quite the same as him.
Drawing close to the village, she grew nervous and worried. How would she find the boy? How would she talk to him? She found a quiet spot away from the road, among the trees she so lovingly frosted only weeks before, to think about how she would meet her young man. After a long while, as the sun was sinking towards the horizon, she had no thoughts on what she should do. Human thinking was still awkward for her, but she had to go on. She had to at least touch him once before returning to her form.
As she made the road, the strap on her shoe broke. The witch had showed her how to tie the shoe on, but had not shown her what to do when the string was too short to retie. She felt stranded and alone. She knew that humans did not go around in their stockings, but what else could she do? Just then, a man was coming along the road behind her. He shouted a greeting. Bending over her shoe, she looked back and wobbled unsteadily as she found herself being spoken to by the young man.
“Hello,” she said shyly.
“Is everything alright Miss?” he asked. He set down a large bundle of wood and looked at her in wonder. She was beautiful, almost uncannily beautiful.
“My . . . my shoe broke,” she answered, still only taking quick glances at him.
“Here, let me look at it.” And he knelt down, glad to be able to do something besides stare. However, he was nearly speechless when confronted by her pretty feet and ankles. “I have some spare string,” he choked out. “It’s not very pretty, but it will hold you for a while. How far are you going?”
Here she knew what to say. As the witch had instructed her, she told the boy that she was on the way to the city to find her aunt who was in service to a great man there. She told him that her parents, fisher folk, had died during the cold winter and she had no one else.
“Well, that is very far and it is getting late. Why don’t you come to my home and my mother will fix your shoe better than I can? We do not have much, but you are welcome to stay with us for the night.” The young man rose as he spoke, but his eyes never left the ground.
“Thank you very much. I’d like that.”
She walked with him towards his village, each keeping a respectful distance. When their path crossed a narrow bridge, he went ahead of her and offered her his hand. She accepted it and the feeling of his warmth, his life, nearly toppled her over the side anyway. She marveled at being able to touch him without harming him and she found she longed to touch him with more than her hand.
His mother greeted her with warmth and soon had her shoe fixed properly. Mei helped to make dinner, feeling gratitude for the old witch’s hasty tutorial and thoughtfulness. She shared a room with the old woman and somehow they all found an excuse for her to stay the next day and the day after that. After nearly a week, the old mother asked her to stay as her son’s wife. She accepted.
#
The winters in the village were always very temperate after that harsh winter that took the life of so many. The town prospered, but no one more than the wood cutter’s family. Everyone wondered and gossiped about his extraordinary good fortune after nearly dying at the outset of that brutally cold winter. He transformed his wood collecting business by adding a kiln to their household and was now also a merchant of charcoal. He had become one of the leaders of the village and was considered very sage in advice he handed out. His mother had lived to a very old age in very good health. He had found himself the most beautiful wife who was industrious and fecund. More than a few men of the village were quite jealous, for even after bearing ten healthy, energetic children, she was still as lovely as a girl.
For all the good fortune of her family, to Mei it meant very little. What she wanted today was the same as she had wanted all the years she had known her husband, just to be close to the wood cutter. His life spark, his warmth never faded or withered.
She always knew deep in her heart what she really was, but over the years she had nearly forgotten what it was like to walk the forests during the frosting months. She nearly forgot that she was really so cold that, in her true form, she would kill her children just by touching them. She loved her children, just as she loved her husband, a feeling so warm she felt like it might melt the icy core within her.
One quiet night in early fall, she sat working by the fire. Her oldest children were at home with their own families, her younger children worked nearby. Her husband sat across the room mending tools. It was the kind of night she loved best, when all were busy and quiet, but comfortable in each other’s company.
She noticed, after a time, her husband watching her closely. She smiled at him. “What is it?” she asked.
“You look so beautiful with your eyes cast down over your work,” he sighed. She felt her face reddening. “You remind of something I saw that cold winter before I met you.”
Mei froze. He couldn’t be bringing that up. Not now, not after all these years. Not when she wasn’t ready for it. “I don’t see how that could be since we hadn’t even met. Did you remember to tell your workers that they’ll get a half day off on festival day?” She tried to deflect his thoughts.
“Yes, of course. They were very happy to hear it,” the wood cutter replied. He fell silent again and Mei held her breath hoping he was done with the topic.
“The night when the old wood cutter died, my beloved master, is when I saw her,” he continued not looking up, just steadily mending his tools.
“You needn’t speak of it,” she said, interrupting him in a tone more harsh than she meant to speak.
“I saw the most amazing sight. A woman came into the fisher’s hut where we had taken refuge,” he had caught the attention of his children who sensed a story they had never heard before. He took no notice of his wife now. She sat across from him, her face freezing into anger.
“My old master was sickly and quickly succumb to the cold, but I stayed awake, shivering to the bone. It was a long time before I saw her.” Mei was frantic. How could she stop him from speaking without the story being revealed? Her muscles and thoughts were frozen, not from the cold but from the fear.
“The door slammed open and there was a woman of the snow. Gusts of snow and frost blew around her like she was the center of the storm. She went to the old man and watched him for some time. Her eyes were downcast and she was beautiful in a terrifying way. You looked like her just now, dear, and reminded me ...” the wood cutter looked up to see his wife of a lifetime hovering above the table.
“I told you to never speak of it,” she cried in a terrible voice. “If it weren’t for these children who cower now from their mother, I would kill you now. Take care of my children and let no harm befall them or it will be you that will pay.”
An icy gale slammed into the house, rattling the shutters and filtering through the wooden walls. With the gale the once-mother to the children in the house, the once-wife to the woodcutter, rode the wind out of the house and far, far away.
#
The winters in the little village soon got a reputation for being the coldest of any. The winter months were always cold and full of snow, yet only one person ever perished from the cold. The little village grew into a thriving, prosperous town. The only person to be taken by a winter frost was an old wood cutter who had become wildly successful and had a large family. He died on a dead cold night, as he lay coughing out his last on his pallet. When no one was watching, he went outside and was found lifeless and frozen solid the following morning.
For those in the village, they knew that he had once almost died from the frost when he was a young man. And nearly all were superstitious that perhaps he couldn’t escape that fate forever.
