Christopher Golden - A Winter of Ghosts

Working quickly, Kara scoopedsnow from the ground and fashioned a crude snow-woman. From her pocket shewithdrew two black stones Kubo had given her, which she pressed into the snowfor eyes, and then a small swatch of white silk, which she wrapped around hersnow-woman's neck as a kimono.

With a thumb-tack she prickedher finger and she squeezed out a few drops of blood, which soaked into thesnow-woman instantly. Several more drops dribbled onto the snow around it, andthen Kara reached into the pack she had brought and withdrew the book. It hadcome from Mr. Yamato's library, but there was nothing at all special about it. Thetitle translated as Popular Japanese Folktales and the contents werejust as boring and ordinary as described. This was no grimoire full of arcanerites, but something taught to school children.

Kubo had said that it didn'tmatter what the book was, as long as the story was about Yuki-Onna. There weredozens of incarnations of the story, but this was apparently one of the mostcommon.

Kara held the book open to thefirst page of the story in question and dripped three more tiny splashes ofblood onto the paper. Then she picked it up, and began to read aloud inJapanese.

Telling Yuki-Onna's story.

Giving it life.

Kubo had told them all that inthe absence of real worship, storytelling was the modern world equivalent. Theblood, the snow-woman. . they made the story an offering, and such thingswere so few and far between in the twenty-first century that they would turnthe story — when told aloud — into a powerful summoning. Yuki-Onnawould not be able to stay way. Curiosity alone would have compelled her, evenif the power of the summoning did not.

And so Kara read:

"Two woodcutters were ontheir way home one very cold evening when a great snowstorm overtook them. Whenthey arrived at the ferry, they found that the ferryman had gone away, leavinghis boat on the other side of the river. It was too cold to swim, so thewoodcutters took shelter in the ferryman's hut. They had nothing with which tobuild a fire, and so could only cover themselves with their coats and lay downto rest and wait out the storm, which they though would end soon.

"The old man quickly fellasleep, but the boy lay awake a long time, listening to the howl of the windand the battering of snow upon the door and roof. At last, in spite of thecold, he too fell asleep.

"He was awakened by ascattering of snow upon his face — "

Kara paused, frowning deeply,for the wind had picked up. She glanced about, heard some shuffling in thepines — though Miss Aritomo stayed well hidden this time — and onlythen did she notice the snowflakes that floated gently down to alight upon thepages of the open book.

Swallowing her fear, shecontinued to read.

Her hands shook as thetemperature dropped sharply. It was working. If she kept reading the sky wouldchurn and the storm would blast through and them Yuki-Onna would be there. Karatook a deep breath and she thought of Hachiro, and of Ren, and of the peoplewho had already died because of the Woman in White. For several seconds sheclosed her eyes, halting her reading, trying to muster up her courage, soafraid that she would end up like Sora, frozen solid, dead in an instant.

"Why did you stop? Keepreading, " a voice like the sighing of the wind said, just beside herear.

It was not Miss Aritomo.

Miho leaned against a tree, itsknots and bare, broken branches jabbing her back. She had sat on the ground inthe snow for a while, but it had gotten too cold for her. The snow did not seemto bother Kubo, however. The old monk sat cross-legged in the snow, barelyseeming to make an impression. His eyes were closed and his expression one ofutter serenity. His hands lay open and palm upward on his lap, and if it werenot for the straightness of his spine, Miho would have thought he had fallenasleep.

Mr. Yamato stood a shortdistance away. The principal had gone from anxious to jittery. He held an unlitcigarette between his lips and from time to time he would take it out and holdit between his fingers, just as he would if he were actually smoking it. Whenthey had first come up the mountain, the old monk had warned him not to lightit, and so instead the principal used it as a personal comfort, like a childmight hang on to a favorite stuffed animal.

They had driven north and comeup to the base of Takigami Mountain from that side. The climb was a bit steeperand the forest there thicker, but it was not really that much more difficultthan the observatory side. What drew tourists to that spot was the convenienceof it, the well-kept observatory and the nearness to the rest of Miyazu City,not to mention the view.

Kubo had guided them up throughthe trees, sometimes following established paths and other times forging hisown trail through areas of the mountain that showed no sign of human intrusion.The silence on the mountain made Miho uneasy. She felt as though spirits lurkedbehind every tree, watching them pass as they journeyed further fromcivilization and from safety. She told herself that was just in her head, thatshe was just being paranoid, but she knew that a girl with a curse on her had agood reason to think that everything was out to get her.

From time to time, Kubo wouldstop, give a little croaking cough, and then spit into the air. At first Mihohad flinched in revulsion and worried about the old monk's health, but then shenoticed that each time the Unsui performed this tiny ritual, he would watch theway the wind took his spittle, studying it as a tracker would study the printsof an animal on the ground. Several times he had stopped for several minutes,closed his eyes, and seemed to be listening to something Miho could not hear.

Not listening , she haddecided after a while. Feeling .

Those weren't the only peculiarthings Kubo had done in their search for Yuki-Onna, and the place she kept Renand Hachiro. The monk had taken out a sheet of rice paper, torn it into tinyshreds, and blown the pieces out of his palm in order to watch them swirl awayon the breeze and skitter across the snow. Some small writing had been scribbledon the paper, but she had been unable to make out even a single character. Kubohad chanted softly under his breath and then, each time, taken a swig of whathe said was plum wine from a small ceramic flask. He claimed that this was partof his search for Yuki-Onna and, watching him, Miho actually believed him.

Perhaps twenty minutes afterthey had started up the mountainside, Kubo had seemed to lock on target,somehow. After that it was not a matter of searching, but of rushing. The oldmonk moved with speed and agility, skipping over fallen trees and duckingbeneath jagged branches so swiftly that both Miho and the cigarette-craving Mr.Yamato had difficulty keeping up, losing sight of Kubo several times as theyfollowed.

The higher they climbed, the colderthe air. But there was more to it than that. If Miho looked carefully, shecould see that in some places the snow seemed more significant, the treesfrosted with ice. Every time she studied their path ahead and tried to guesswhere Kubo would lead them next, she was correct. Yuki-Onna was a creature ofwinter, and she left her mark.

Perhaps an hour had passed sincethey had come up a steep rise where an outcropping of stone jutted from thesnow, walked past a few bare trees that seemed to lean together into a kind ofarch, and found Kubo sitting just as he was now. The old monk had looked up atMiho and spoken a single word: "Call."

Miho had done as she was told,using her cell phone to call Kara and tell her to get in position for thesummoning. Kubo had explained that no return call would be necessary; if thesummoning worked, he would know, and sense Yuki-Onna's departure.

But for Miho the waiting wastorture.

She pushed away from the treeand walked over to Mr. Yamato. He held his unlit cigarette down low as if tohide it, though that was impossible. Obviously the principal did not wishanyone to know that he smoked, so Miho did him the courtesy of pretending shedid not see it.