chapter one
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The snow had fallen heavily, blanketing the ground with thick white powder. Overhead, however, past the stark, ice-bearded branches of the trees, the sky shone through, clear and black and brilliant with stars. It was near midnight as Midoriko surveyed the scene- the last of her duties done for the day- and knelt in the midst of a deep drift. Her mind went back earlier, to the towns' children building their round, robust snowmen, and almost without conscious thought, her hands began to gather snow, piling it into a small mound equivalent in height to one of the younger girls she knew. Skilled fingers compacted the snow, then sculpted it- first the head, then the body. A girl, a tiny version of herself: long, straight hair, a gentle face, wide eyes. Deviating from the image that had drawn itself up in her mind, Midoriko attempted to carve for the little snow girl a playful, upturned smile, but to no avail. Try after try, the mouth remained a tiny, stubborn line.
At last, Midoriko gave in, smiling to herself. "My little daughter is quite the serious child… More snow for the arms." With the maternal tenderness of a mother, she shaped the girl's limbs, perfecting each little finger until she'd put more effort into her making than she'd first thought to. It was late into the night when she at last finished and drew back, still kneeling, to admire her creation bathed in the light of the full moon.
Midoriko frowned. The snow girl's chest looked a bit sickly, too thin for her liking. Gathering another handful of snow, she returned her undertaking, packing it in tightly so that the statue might last til' morning, but as she worked, a sharp object hidden in the powder caught her hand and pricked her finger. Wincing, Midoriko retracted her hand, and sure enough drops of dark red blood had began to pool at the tip of her index finger. A tiny crystal, about half the size of her pinky, protruded from the snow, radiating a cold pink hue.
The priestess plucked it out. She had never seen anything quite like it before- it could have been quite valuable, she thought, but then, looking up at the sky and at her humble surroundings, she smiled once again to herself. What need had she for such riches?
Smoothing the little snow girl's chest, she reinserted the jewel right where the heart would've been.
"You're the only jewel I need," she murmured, smearing the outline of the figure's mouth with her reddened finger. "A girl as white as the winter, as black as the night, and with lips as red as the rose. The most beautiful little daughter…" She sat back and sighed, melancholy swelling in her heart for she knew it could never be. As a priestess, purity was her power, and to give in to the desires of the flesh meant giving up the strength of her spirit.
It was not a sacrifice she could make.
Daily now she'd sensed it, the murmurings of the land. To the East, to the North, and to the South, powerful lords had arisen, conquering their fellow man to become master and king of vast dominions that were constantly growing, like a hungry animal devouring all that it may- not only annexing human territories, but demolishing the mountains, forests, and wild plains where the last of the Ancients took refuge.
The West was restless. More than once now, these kings had sought to make headway into the last of the four territories, and more than ever, the spirits that dwelt there were becoming more and more wary, fearful, and hateful of human presence. Distinctions between the harmless colonies- like that of Midoriko's protectorate village- and those of the warmongering armies were fastly becoming dimmed and nonexistent. The land- so congested as it was with the spirits who had fled from the East, the North, the South in the face of human expansion- was eager to be rid of them all.
Now more than ever, her powers as intercessor and protector were needed, not only on behalf of the humans but also of the spirits that dwelled in her forest. The hate was hardly one sided, for that plague known as fear had spread throughout the heart of man as well, and they sought to be rid of these Unknown things just as greatly as these Unknowns sought to be rid of them. The balance of life had shifted and it demanded the eradication of one or the other.
Already Midoriko walked a fine line, feared and mistrusted by both sides. As a human with such a large reserve of spiritual energy, she was more of a threat to the Ancient Unknowns than any general, lord, or king. But, as someone whose power was drawn from the same ancient source as the spirits, the humans she endeavored to protect were more than suspicious she could just as easily side with the Unknowns in order to defend it.
Ruminating the situation with the clairvoyance of an oracle, Midoriko saw no victor, only swathes of death and destruction where once forests and civilizations thrived.
But on this night, lit by a full moon, a million stars, and the snow itself, she pushed all those thoughts from her head and allowed herself, instead, a moment of secret pleasure with her little snow child.
"Even if the whole mad world were to crumble tomorrow," she spoke, " I would gladly live every heartache that comes one hundred times over if I could have you to protect." Absently, she reached within her thick robes for a handkerchief to wipe the blood remaining on her fingers, withdrew the cloth, and with it, a dark purple flower, pressed amongst its folds.
Midoriko glanced at it in surprise, having forgotten its existence. It had been the last bloom of the previous autumn and she had kept it as a reminder that spring would one day return again.
Picking up the fallen blossom, Midoriko dusted the bit of snow that clung to its faded petals, and, lovingly, tucked it behind the little snow girl's ear.
"My Kikyo," she smiled. Then, cleaning up her pin-prick wound, she rose to her feet, took one last, longing glance at her handiwork, and retreated back into the warmth of the shrine.