The woman ran heedlessly, with no thought given to the rocks that tore at her feet or the rough branches tearing at her clothing and flesh. Blood spotted the hem and sleeves of her kimono, but it was not all her blood. Her breath was quick and ragged, almost panicky. Behind her, she could hear the sound of others, shouting in the distance. They would chase her. They would find her. They would punish her.

She ran faster, ignoring the damage the elements and environment took on her body. She climbed, knowing her pursuers would be reluctant to follow her into the peaks. It was winter, and only a fool would climb so high in the mountains during the winter. A fool or someone with nothing to lose.

The voices soon fell into the background as she climbed higher. Tense minutes stretched into hours, and the panicked numbness she felt in her limbs gave way to a burning pain that crawled though her arms and legs into her body. Rock gave way to snow, and eventually the pain receded into numbness once more.

The woman realized she had no idea how long she had been climbing. The sun had not yet risen. Ice crystals were forming on her face and in her hair. She could feel very little. Even the manic fear and anger that had set upon her as she had fled the temple had faded, leaving an emptiness that her addled mind could only vaguely recognize.

The first rays of dawn appeared over the mountains in the distance, but she was too injured to even notice. She slumped to the ground, failing to notice the cold snow against her battered body. Darkness took her, replaced almost immediately by a strange light and the sound of distant voices…

The heavens opened up, and a rain of blood spilled forth upon the land. The foul, unclean liquid covered everything, drenching the ground, plants, and buildings in a thin red coat that left the entire landscape resembling nothing more than a nightmarish image of Toshigoku, the Realm of Slaughter.

In a garden near her family’s estate, Moshi Hinome lay on the ground, writhing in agony. The blood stung like needles falling from the sky. As a child playing in the garden during winter, an ice crystal had fallen from a tree and stuck in her shoulder. That was among her most painful memories, but this was a hundred times worse.

Someone grabbed her and drug her roughly to her feet. “Come on!” a familiar voice shouted through the haze, half helping and half dragging her through the street toward the main house. He kicked the door open and more or less tossed her through the doorway into the antechamber, quickly closing the doors behind them.

“Water!” he shouted, sending servants scrambling even as he ripped away part of his kimono and began wiping the blood from his skin as best he could. Moshi Hirota had always had a commanding air about him, and had slipped easily into the role of family administrator after he and Hinome’s parents had died, leaving her free to pursue whatever lifestyle she preferred. Hirota was a devout shugenja and a very pious man, meaning that he had never truly approved of her choices. “Hinome-chan, are you recovered?” he asked, his back still turned. “I saw things when the blood touched my skin, try not to…”

Hirota never finished the sentence, interrupted by the sensation of cold steel buried in his back. Hinome loomed over him, countless images from her frustrated youth flashing before her eyes. Hirota chastising her. Hirota judging her. Hirota thwarting her will and her pleasures. “No man rules me!” she hissed, her eyes wild and spittle collecting near the corners of her mouth. “No man judges me!”

Her older brother gurgled and fell to the floor, his life’s blood pooling around him, mixing with the blood from the rain. He reached up to her with his last moment, seeking the sister he had once known. Hinome slapped his hand away savagely. She felt nothing but hatred as the pathetic creature on the floor died.

There was a splash from behind her, then a high, keening wail. Hinome turned to find an elderly servant staring at her in horror, the bucket of water she had brought spilled in the floor. She sneered and took a step toward the woman, but noticed others near the rear of the chamber scattering through different doors. She would never find them all, and they would bring others before she could destroy them.

Scowling, Moshi Hinome turned and fled into the rain of blood.

The woman who had once gone by the name Moshi Hinome bore only a passing resemblance to her former self. Months living in the wild had reduced her to little more than a savage beast. Her hair was tangled and loose, with various bits of twigs and foliage hopelessly snared in it. Her clothing was likewise tattered and torn, stained here and there with dark, ominous blemishes that bespoke the violent lifestyle she now embraced. Her eyes were like those of a dangerous predator, cornered and prepared to fight to the death at a moment’s notice.

And yet despite her bestial appearance, Hinome retained much of her mind. She could appreciate the terrible depths to which she had fallen. She remembered the kami that would no longer answer her call. The former shugenja was disgusted by the promises of the kansen that whispered in hear ears constantly. She longed for the comforts of home that were forever lost to her. And perhaps most of all, she could envision the fate that awaited her if she dared try to return to the home she desperately missed. It was not a pleasant thought.

The irony of the entire situation was not lost on Hinome. Throughout her life, she had sought only freedom. She longed to sail the seas, reckless and unfettered as the storms her Yoritomo kinsmen spoke of so frequently. Now she had experienced absolute, true freedom, and all she longed for was the life she could not have again.

Below the mountains, the Empire was beginning to recover from a harsh winter that had been made infinitely worse by the cataclysm historians were already calling the Rain of Blood. The mountains and several regions to the far north and south were still firmly in winter’s grasp, however. Snow clogged every mountain pass and path, making travel so difficult that it was nearly impossible. Hinome often contemplated descending from her frigid prison despite the risk, but realistically the elements would kill her despite the hardiness her Taint had granted her.

Hinome had not stopped her flight since the rain. Although she could not descend the treacherous cliffs, she was able to slowly move across the icy mountaintops. The landmarks were almost impossible to make out from this height, but she believed she was nearing the region of the mountains that marked the southern Unicorn provinces. She held some vague hope that the Iuchi Pass would be different, and that she would be able to descend from the mountains without risk of certain death in an avalanche or a plummet from some great cliff.

A particularly strong gust of wind caused Hinome to hunch over and buckle down against the force of it, trying to keep from being sent tumbling as she had so many times before. Over the whistling wind, she could hear the cracking as great sheets of ice broke away and went sliding down the mountainside, shattering into oblivion. Tears stung her eyes, some from the wind and some not. Frustration and anger welled up inside her until she thought she might scream her throat raw, but knew from experience that such sounds might trigger worse avalanches. Rage and despair warring in her heart, Moshi Hinome collapsed into the snow in exhaustion, and knew no more.

The former Mantis came awake with a start, rising to her knees and lifting her hands defensively even before she realized that she had been sleeping. She cast about left and right, seeking a foe. Only then did she notice that the familiar mountain landscape was gone.

Hinome was kneeling in a field, flat and featureless in all directions. Only trees broke the monotony, magnificent cherry trees covered with snow in such delicate patterns that they seemed to be adorned with blossoms made of ice crystals. Large, magnificent snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground, but Hinome did not feel them where they touched her skin. In fact, for the first time in months she did not feel the cold at all. It was wonderful and disturbing all at once.

“Hello?” she rasped, her voice unaccustomed to speech after the long period of isolation. “Who’s there?” There was no immediate response. Hinome could sense someone or something nearby, however. “Show yourself!” she snarled. “You cannot hide from me!”

“You are mistaken,” a soft voice answered. Hinome spun around in a near panic, searching everywhere for its source. There was nothing. “You are far too inexperienced to see me unless I wish it,” the voice continued. “And for the moment, I do not wish it.”

“Who are you?” Hinome hissed.

“Ah, mortals,” the voice sighed with an amused tone. “Always with questions. Always wanting to know why. Can you not simply accept what you see and hear?” There was a pause. “But then I suppose you are no longer mortal. Perhaps your confusion is understandable.”

The mysterious voice’s words filled Hinome with a terrible dread. The Taint was surging through her, causing near-animal panic to well up within her chest. She struggled to her feet, then stopped as she noticed her hands.

The rough hands that had been calloused from years of weapons practice and the rolling and unrolling of thousands of scrolls were gone. Her arms were smooth and flawless, as white as delicate porcelain. The cuts and scratches from her struggles through the mountain were gone. Her hands flew to her face, and there found the same smooth, perfect skin. Only her fingernails, a deep, sinister red color reminiscent of blood, marred the image. “What… what is this?” Hinome whispered.

There was another sigh, this one more annoyed that amused. “Very well.”

A woman appeared in the snow, standing near one of the larger trees. Her features and clothing were exquisite, more beautiful by far than even the delicate ice blossoms atop the trees. The hem of her kimono caused snowflakes to swirl about her when she moved, but they immediately settled in her wake, leaving no trace that she had passed at all. The woman approached Hinome slowly, carelessly. It was as if she were strolling absently through a beautiful garden. A small smile graced her painted features. “Will this suffice?”

The anger and fear faded from Hinome in the face of such beauty. “You are a snow maiden,” she said breathlessly. “A yuki no onna.”

“Our kind has many names,” the woman said casually. “Those names are among them, yes.”

“What is this place?” Hinome asked, looking at the field around them. “Where are we?” The enormity of the woman’s words sunk in. “What do you mean, our kind?”

“This is the mortal world as I perceive it,” the maiden answered. “I have allowed you to share it, at least for a moment. In time your own experiences will determine how the world appears to you. That is the nature of our essence.” She looked at Hinome carefully. “It has been a very long time since I encountered a kindred spirit. Few ascend the mountains during winter.”

“I had little choice,” Hinome said bitterly. “I could not escape, and now it seems it has cost me my life.”

“Only life as you knew it,” the maiden said. “What comes next is not pre-ordained.” She circled the former Mantis, regarding her strangely. “What would be your wish?”

“My wish?”

“Yes,” the maiden replied. “What is it you desire more than all else?”

Hinome’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask me this?”

The maiden waved her hand absently. “Your desires are still those of a mortal, and mortal desires are many and varied. I find them fascinating. There is no way to predict them, and they change with the wind.” She fixed Hinome with a curious stare. “What are yours?”

Hinome dropped her head and stared at the snow. “I want to go home,” she whispered roughly. “I want to be free of this curse.”

The maiden nodded in sympathy. “The touch of Jigoku is upon you,” she acknowledged. “But the burden is not so great as you imagine. The boundaries Jigoku places on one’s soul are, in their own way, far less limiting than those of Ningen-do. The mortal realm is jealous and greedy, and does not relinquish its hold easily. You are fortunate to have escaped it grasp with your will intact.”

“Fortunate?” Hinome was at once both incredulous and outraged. “You dare call me fortunate? I am damned!” All the frustration from her months of suffering exploded outward. “Who are you? Why do you ask me these things? Why do you care what becomes of me?”

“Do you know the name Moshi Mariko?” the maiden inquired.

“Yes,” Hinome answered, her tone suddenly subdued and guarded. “She is one of my ancestors. A magistrate, if I recall correctly.” She frowned. “I seem to recall something about her pursuing a criminal into the mountains in winter. She would never speak of it after her return, but she was never the same.”

“Very true,” the maiden said. “I recall it well. She pursued a blood sorcerer into the mountains, and there they fought. Mariko was strong, but her enemy was treacherous, and the magistrate was distracted by thoughts of her family and young children awaiting her at home.”

“Were you there when Mariko defeated the Bloodspeaker?”

“Oh no,” the maiden replied. “But I recall it nevertheless. The sorcerer overcame and defeated Mariko, and took her place with some foul ritual.”

Hinome had grown quiet. “What do you mean, took her place?”

“The sorcerer defeated Mariko and left her for dead in the snow, using some ritual to assume her form and return to your people. Mariko died here in the mountains while her murderer lived among your family for many years. Isn’t that interesting?”

Hinome felt the last vestige of honor within her soul whither and die. The memories of her family that she had clung to for sanity for the past few months were all a lie, stained by blood and dishonor years before her birth, even as she had been by the rain of blood. “Are you Mariko, then?” she demanded. “Snow maidens are said to be the souls of women who died in a snowstorm.”

“Is that what they say?” the maiden said with a smile. “How quaint. As if there are any absolutes in this universe.” Her expression became serious once more. “I was once known as Moshi Mariko, yes. My memories of that time are faded, however. It is as if they happened to someone else, and I was told of them. Once I was Mariko, but now I am merely Yuki no Onna.”

“And what of me?” Hinome asked, her voice quiet and hoarse. “What am I?”

“You, too, are Yuki no Onna,” the maiden answered. “Beyond that, you must choose. Jigoku’s touch is upon you. Will you permit that to dominate your existence?”

Hinome looked to the south. Her hand brushed her lips absently. “He calls me,” she answered. “He calls to me, and I do not know if I can resist him.”

“There are others who suffer the same burdens,” the maiden explained. “They too bear the mark, and yet they do not permit it to choose their destiny. Their choices are their own, as yours can be. If you wish it.”

“I do,” Hinome whispered.

“You can remember your people, and the duties you still feel for them, if that is your wish,” the woman once known as Mariko offered. Her voice was strangely sad. “Your people… our people… can still benefit from your guidance. I have been gone from the mortal realm for too long, but your connection to Ningen-do is still strong.”

Hinome closed her eyes and let the anger fall away. “I know what I must do,” she finally said.

“Then do it,” the yuki no onna replied.

Hinome awoke atop the mountain where she had fallen before. The chill that had settled in her bones was gone. She stood, and discovered that the thick snow, which should have come to her knees, did not hinder her movement. She tentatively took a step forward and found that the snow supported her weight easily, allowing her to walk atop it just as she might the deck of a ship or a stone floor. The mountains around her were different now. The snow swirled in strange patterns, and she could perceive in them doorways to other places. The cold moved about her like a comforting blanket.

Moshi Hinome smiled and stepped forward, searching through the snow for a doorway that she could use.

Tsuruchi Dorai moved through the forest silently, his every step guarded against any noise. To his left, his cousin Shiriko was likewise cautious. They were deep inside the forest, which touched on the southern border of the Agasha provinces. Tension between the Mantis and Phoenix was high, owing not only to their long history of conflict but also to the devastation wrought upon the City of Remembrance by Mantis warriors who fell to the Rain of Blood. Publicly the Phoenix acknowledged that they appreciated the Mantis were not responsible for Kitao and her crew’s actions, but privately they had removed several key ambassadors from the Mantis islands. Dorai and Shiriko were one of countless Tsuruchi teams dispatched by the Tsuruchi lord Nobumoto in an attempt to locate any trace of Kitao and the others.

Inwardly, Dorai was quite certain that Kitao was long gone from the Phoenix lands. The Yoritomo ships scouring the sea and the Moshi shugenja who were attempting to scry upon the lost captain would likely have more luck, but the Tsuruchi could not abandon their duty simply because it seemed hopeless. Indeed, their investigation had already borne fruit, even though it was not regarding the quarry they sought.

Through a combination of luck and skill, the two had discovered the site of a blood ritual, perhaps one that had contributed to the Rain of Blood’s creation. The two archers had carefully retraced the meager traces of those who had been there, and the trail had led to this forest. Somewhere within the snow-flecked trees, Bloodspeakers were lurking.

Something moved through the brush a few hundred feet to the left. Both hunters stopped immediately. Shiriko glanced at him, and Dorai nodded wordlessly. The younger hunter moved forward carefully, an arrow in place and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. She cocked her head to the side, listening carefully for any sound that might betray their prey.

A cloud of flame billowed forth from the underbrush, rolling forward like a wave on the shore. Shiriko hurled herself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a terrible death. Dorai leapt behind a tree at the last moment, feeling the flame and heat wash around him, blackening his clothing and blistering the skin on his arms.

The heat disappeared instantly. Dorai placed one hand on his chest, then his face, reassuring himself that he was not dead. Ignoring the pain, he glanced out from around the tree to see Shiriko likewise looking for him from her place on the ground. He nodded to her, then prepared an arrow. His cousin and his honor demanded that he put aside his wounds and fulfill his duty. It was only then that he noticed the whistling sound.

As the two Tsuruchi watched, a miniature blizzard erupted in the forest around them. Mere feet from where they stood, a white wall of wind and snow appeared in an instant, tearing at the forest with its incredible fury. The wind whistled through the trees, and Dorai could feel the incredible cold it was generating even beyond its edge. Above the wind, he could hear screaming from inside the blizzard. Something was tearing the Bloodspeakers apart.

For the briefest of moments, even over the wind and screaming, the two Tsuruchi heard a light, playful chuckle. It was the sound a young courtier might make when engaging in a simple game with her friends. It was at once both innocent and terrifying.

Dorai ran to his cousin and helped her to her feet. Together, the two turned and fled the forest. It was obvious that their prey was no more, and even though he was greatly curious as to what could cause such terrible destruction, Dorai was unwilling to discover the truth at the cost of his life.

Behind them, the blizzard abated, and a late snowfall began to fall throughout the forest, coating the trees and ground with a light powder of perfect, pristine white.