Belling the Kat and Other Stories by JL Merrow

Author:JL Merrow [Merrow, JL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2019-11-09T16:00:00+00:00

Ice Maiden

They said that I was cold, my sisters did, because I had no use for the young men of our village, with their harsh voices and their swaggering ways. They called me ice-maiden and snow-queen. They dragged me to the fire and pressed my face down close to its mocking red tongues, until my skin tightened and my breath withered in my throat, and I cried without making a sound.

“This will melt her heart!” one crowed.

“No, no; she has no heart, only a block of ice within her breast,” another jeered. My father looked on, but did nothing to stop them, and I wept the harder as I saw that his frown was for me alone.

And so, when the moon had long since chased away the sun, and snowflakes fell thick as cherry blossom in the springtime winds, I ran from my village. I ran far; but when I looked back I saw my treacherous feet had left tracks upon the snow for all to follow. So I ran further still, into the forest, heedless of the many dangers that hide there: of Yuki-onna and Yama-uba, and the terrible oni with their fearsome tusks and iron clubs, who creep from the mountains to prey upon the unwary. My face and hands knew only pain, and my feet were like two blocks of wood affixed to the ends of my legs, but still I ran.

I ran until I came upon a clearing into which the moon shone brighter than the morning sun, and at once my discomforts were as nothing, for a dark-haired lady stood within the circle of the moon’s light. In her arms was a tiny child. I gasped to see them; and then the child smiled at me and faded into smoke, leaving the lady standing alone.

She was more beautiful than the sunset; more beautiful than the first frosts of winter. Her kimono was white as the snow upon the mountaintops, and her skin like rice paper. Her lips were redder than cherries, and I wondered if it was true that she drank men’s blood.

“Tell me your name, pretty child,” she commanded me.

“I am Natsumi, my lady,” I told her, my head bowed low.

“No, no! That will not do at all,” she chided me, shaking her beauteous head slowly upon her slender neck, and I began to weep. “Pretty one, why do you cry?” she asked.

I wept harder, and hid my face with my hands. “You, who are so beautiful, you too think me cold, unworthy to bear the name of Summer Child.”

“And for this you weep? Don’t you know who I am?”

“I know who you are, my lady,” I told her, as the wind froze my tears upon my cheeks. “You are Yuki-onna, who steals men’s lives with a kiss.”

“Yes,” she told me, her tone regal. “I am Yuki-onna, maiden of snow; but what use have I for men with their hot passions and fiery tempers? It is a wicked slander, put about by those who would lie with me, and whom I refuse.

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