~~~

Complete freedom, thought the owl as it glided down towards endless layers of mountain snow, closing its eyes whenever streaks of sunlight poked through the clouds and then opening them again to let in the beautifully dismal palette of grey.

Flying at night was obviously the traditional way, but why would it want to do that when it could be alone in the almost-dark of winter day?

Besides, there were still creatures to hunt, and sometimes even humans to swoop down at and irritate.

Like the two figures to the left, emerging from a patch of forest on the slope below and traipsing like arthritic mice towards the next set of trees.

Grinning inside, the owl stretched out its wings a little wider and arched into a scare-dive. It had to be a little bit careful with the claws, make sure they were shaped to scrape, not grab. And if one of the humans happened to have a sharp slab of magic-ice on hand, as some of them did on occasion, then an abrupt swerve would be in order.

But that’s pretty unlikely, decided the owl, getting closer to the head of the taller human. And even if they did have one, it’d be tucked into their skin, possibly frozen to it, if luck held.

And luck usually did hold ever since the white-

The thought ended abruptly with the owls head sailing forward alone, and then rolling to a stop next to a tree trunk that was so covered in snow that it looked like an Echigo wish-totem.

‘Wah, where did that-…’

‘Quiet, there may be more,’ said the tall man with his sword drawn back in towards his ankles, owl blood dripping off the end.

The courier pulled his lips tight together with a flourish, edging closer to the guard who not even one year ago was a farmer, yet now appeared to be the reincarnation of Minamoto no Shitsune. How the hell had he seen that owl coming? Blanket-grey sky, grey clouds, grey snow haze everywhere. Was there some kind of owl radar that only he possessed? Supernatural hearing?

‘Looks like a rogue pest,’ muttered the guard finally, wiping the tip of his blade on the snow and then tucking it into his yukata belt.

‘Attacking two humans?’

‘Probably got blinded by the snow and mistook us for large mice.’ The guard walked deep steps over to the corpse of the owl, minus its head of course, which had somehow been dislodged from the base of the tree trunk and was now tumbling almost apologetically down the mountain slope. ‘Should make an adequate dinner.’

‘If we can find something to roast it on…’

‘Will have to be plucked clean first, and washed thoroughly.’

‘And the roasting part?’

‘Then wipe off some of the blood.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m sure the castle’s just round the next corner. They’ll have a nice big fire for us.’ The courier pulled his dōbuku tighter in, then reached inside and pulled the under-layer dōbuku in tighter too. ‘Gods, it’s like an ice cave out here. What kind of madman would choose this as a base?’

The guard bunched up some snow and rubbed it on the owls neck, then picked it up by the claws and tossed it over to the courier.

‘What, I’m carrying it?’

‘Punishment for your attempt at sarcasm.’

‘That was-…I was only doing that cos you weren’t answering my roasting question. Wah, it’s still wet. Can’t you put it in your bag or something?’

‘We need to keep moving. Sunset’s no more than two hours away.’

‘That’s a no?’

‘My bag is full. Besides, a freshly slain owl can be a good source of warmth, if you put your hands inside it.’

The courier looked at his hands, some of the skin around the fingers cracked from seven straight hours of snow-hiking, and then switched back to the oozing, bloody mess of the dead owl. Dry hands or abject horror glove? Not a tough choice.

‘Come on, into the next set of trees. With a bit of luck, there’ll be a sign in there. At least let us know you haven’t led us down the wrong trail.’

‘Hey, I followed the map given to me by-…’

‘Enough moaning. Move.’

‘Fine, I’m moving. But only cos you’ve got a katana.’

‘And cut it with the sarcasm. It’s beginning to grate.’

Biting his tongue once, then again when he didn’t feel anything, the courier plodded through the snow holes left by the guard, glancing back a few times on the way to the next clump of forest to make sure there were no more owls doing suicide runs.

‘Horse game?’ asked the guard as they merged with the trees ahead, more a statement than a question.

‘Again?’

‘Keep your mind off the cold.’

The courier sighed, switched the owl remains to his other hand, wiped blood residue on his outer dōbuku and mouthed the previous horse game problems they’d done until he reached a fresh one.

‘Okay, how about this? A horse is out of control and heading towards five elderly people tied to the road ahead. If you whip it, you can divert the horse to a baby tied up on another path. What do you do?’

The guard kept walking, putting out his right hand to swipe loose snow off tree trunks as he passed.

‘Well?’

‘How old are the elderly people?’

‘Very old.’

‘And the baby?’

‘Baby age.’

More swiping of trunks, with the addition of a quick dip to the ground to pick up a twig…which was then used to knock snow off from the higher branches.

‘Are the elderly people upper class?’

‘Err…’

‘Does the baby have any underlying medical conditions?’

‘I think you’re not really getting this game.’

‘Does it cry a lot?’

‘Maybe spot the fox instead?’

‘No, I have an answer.’

‘Yes?’

‘Whip the horse, divert it.’

‘And kill the baby?’

‘Five is worth more than one. And the baby might die during infancy.’

‘Might…’

‘Done, solved. What’s the next one?’

~~~

An hour later, the two game players walked out from the forest and onto a path that soon led to a sloped crossroads. Both men had their outer dōbuku tied tight around their bodies, and their arms tucked into the sleeves as they moved forward and squinted at the spots of sign behind the giant snow wraparound.

‘No good. You’ll have to wipe it a bit,’ said the guard, using his forehead to gesture towards the signboard.

‘Me?’

‘Don’t complain, just use the owl.’

The courier sighed, shifted the letter bag closer to his neck and then did as the guard suggested. There were still some clots of blood around the owls throat, but it was mostly dry and didn’t transfer onto the sign.

‘There, wiped.’

‘Hell Valley – 500m to the left. Paradise Cabin – 800m to the right.’

‘Tough choice.’

The guard scanned the two paths, stopping on the one to the left. ‘According to your directions, the castle is more in that direction. Correct?’

‘Vaguely, yes, but-…’

‘Then we should go that way.’

‘What? Are you mad? My hands are already turning-…’

‘Tomorrow morning. After a good night’s rest at Paradise Cabin.’

‘Wah, kuso. You really-…me cut out the sarcasm…son of a-…’

‘Careful, I’ve still got the sword, remember?’

‘Yeah, and I’ve got the letter.’

‘I could take that at any time.’

The courier opened his mouth to respond, but the first words on his tongue were good point, so he waited for something to better, more cutting to materialise. Waited and waited and…felt a sudden gust of cold mountain wind…and just went with what he had. ‘Well, I’ve still got the owl. Dinner. Can’t sleep if you’re stomach’s making noises.’

The guard smirked, shivering a little as he relaxed his arms, then patted the courier on the shoulder and told him they should get the eight hundred metres out of the way before the sun bedded down for the night.

‘This Paradise cabin better not be false advertising.’

‘Long as it’s warmer than outside, I don’t care. Come on, faster, longer strides. Move.’

~~~

Eight hundred metres wasn’t such a slog when you had images of a hot spring and a warm futon and a bowl of chopped owl meat that didn’t look like owl in your head, and that’s exactly how it was for both the guard and the courier, though each fantasy was punctured a little by the occasional dark-mirror shot of a dilapidated shack with human skeletons propped up outside.

Fortunately, the doom zone of their minds was quelled as they arrived at a quaint, moderately-sized cabin with lights in at least four windows and smoke coming out the back, and a tall, pale woman in a turquoise yukata standing at the door panel to greet them.

‘You have travelled far,’ she said, reaching out a hand to take the bag from the courier’s hand and then pausing halfway when he passed her the corpse of an owl.

‘Put it away,’ barked the guard, straightening up. ‘Are you the owner of this place?’

‘This night I am.’

‘Okay. Well, we require a room and a hot meal. A hot bath too if you are equipped for it.’

The woman tilted her head at the guard, eyes either dotted with flecks of snow or oddly white in a natural way, then, without glancing left, took the dead owl from the courier’s hand.

‘Come, I will take care of you both.’

~~~

The inside of Paradise Cabin was about as cosy as any isolated structure in the middle of a wintered snow-scape could be, with several okiandon emitting a warm, orange glow in the corridors, and some kind of hidden fire or heat source providing more than adequate warmth.

Both the guard and the courier held their feelings in tight as the tall, very pale, very pretty, alleged owner showed them to the same room, explaining that they were the only guests that night and, if they needed anything, all they had to do was walk down to the corridor and knock on her door panel.

‘And if you’re asleep?’ asked the guard, removing his outer dōbuku, throwing it on the futon.

‘I’m available at any hour.’

‘For any service?’

‘Anything that the guest requires.’

‘We’re not gonna eat that owl, are we?’ interrupted the courier, breaking the spell completely and giving the woman enough time to bow her way back out into the corridor. When the panel was firmly slid shut, the guard took off his inner-dōbuku and tossed it at the courier’s head.

‘Wah, I’m not a futon.’

‘This is far too good to be true. Far, far too good. Yet here we are, my friend. Alone with a beautiful woman, who basically just offered me a free invitation to her bedroom.’

‘And apparently runs a cabin with no other guests…in the middle of nowhere…’

‘Here’s the plan. We eat dinner quickly, have a bath, then you come back here and go to sleep.’

‘While you charm the pale lady?’

‘Exactly. If you call what I’m gonna do charm. Now, whatever you do, don’t come and knock on her door while I’m in there. And no peeking through gaps. I don’t like being spied on.’

‘I guess I’ll just stare at the okiandon then.’

‘Good man.’

‘Play the horse game all by myself.’

‘Yes, horse game, great idea. Now, let’s get this dinner out of the way. I’m already seeing visions of her with her gown off.’

‘That’s another thing. She’s pretty underdressed…for this weather. Don’t you think?’

‘Stop yapping, start eating.’

‘Very underdressed,’ muttered the courier, turning to the window panel. One side was slightly ajar so he reached over to close it when he glimpsed something yellow outside. Two dots, hovering. He put his face closer to the panel, squinting. Then mumbled kuso to himself when he worked out what it was.

‘What is it?’ asked the guard, joining him.

The courier pulled open the panel a little more and stepped back, half raising a hand to point out the owl on the tree branch opposite.

‘Ah, friend of our dinner.’

‘You wanna cut his head off too?’

‘Ha, only if it gets between me and my woman.’ The guard turned back, heading towards the door. ‘Come on, let’s go get a drink to warm us up a bit. Then I’ll tell you my plan.’

‘Plan? For what?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘Tonight?’

~~~

It turned out the guard’s plan wasn’t the most complicated thing ever, in fact it was pretty much what he’d said to begin with – eat, drink, bathe, fuck - with the only caveat being, don’t do anything weird to unnerve the woman. That didn’t seem to be too much of a worry as her face never seemed to change at all…just a constant screen of blank stoicism, watching her two guests plough through roasted nuts, seaweed soup, a platter of meat that she claimed came from the dead owl, and, without any request issued, a bottle of fairly good shōchū.

Apparently, she never drank shōchū as it would make her too light-headed, and certain men may take advantage of her in such a state, and consuming any of the dinner meat was out of the question as she’d had a pet owl when she was a child.

The only thing that did appear acceptable to her was sipping from a cup of water with no steam rising off the top.

‘Tell me,’ asked the guard, finishing his fourth shot of shōchū, ‘do you have a name, or should we just refer to you as cabin woman?’

‘You may call me Natsu.’

‘Ah, nice, very ironic.’

Natsu glared back, taking a final sip of not-hot water before dipping her head and rising quite elegantly to her feet.

‘You’re leaving already?’

‘There are things I must prepare.’

‘In the kitchen? Wah, there’s no one back there, right? It was you who cooked the food?’

‘Please, finish your meal. Pour another drink.’

‘Great answer. Thanks.’

Without any attempt at bowing or tutting in disgust, Natsu exited the dinner room, leaving the door panel slightly ajar behind her.

‘Kuso…’ cursed the guard, hitting his own neck.

‘You think she’s going to get dessert?’ asked the courier, fishing up crumbs of owl meat from his bowl.

Before the guard could respond [or lash out at himself again], the door slid open again and Natsu’s face poked through, reminding them that she was available at any hour, in her room, for anything they required.

‘Ah, so you're not pissed off,’ replied the guard, pouring out another shōchū shot and downing it. ‘Was worried there for a second.’

'Good night.'

'Yeah, it will be.'

Natsu bowed, smiled at the tatami and exited, again.

‘There’s something very weird about all this,’ said the courier, when the door panel was closed again.

‘What, a mountain prostitute?’

‘Yeah. One who doesn’t seem to feel the cold.’

‘Ah, you mean Yuki Onna. It’s true, that did cross my mind, the pale skin, cold water she was sipping on. Luckily, the rational side of my brain kicked in and…let’s face it, she’s either a prostitute, or one of those wild, country women who likes to writhe around during sex. Hopefully, the latter, as I’m low on coin.’

The guard put his hands on the table and lifted himself up, cleared his throat quite violently and then moved in a drunken zig-zag over to the door panel.

‘You’re going now?’

‘After a few push-ups, yes.’

‘But-…’

‘You can stay here and drink if you like. Or go back to the room and pass out. It’s up to you.’

The courier put a hand on the rim of the shōchū bottle and made a muffled groaning noise.

‘And remember, no disturbances.’

~~~

With sub-zero temperatures outside and very little except paintings of barren snowy landscapes on the corridor walls, the courier had no choice but to retire to his room and stare at the painting of a barren snowy landscape in there instead.

Actually, that wasn’t entirely true.

After an hour of continuous staring, he leaned in closer and noticed that the thing he’d mistaken for a speck of large dust was in fact a castle.

Probably the one we’re supposed to be at right now, he thought, glancing back at the letter bag and flinching. Lord Yukidaruma, the eccentric...standing on the ramparts, waiting for the delivery, cursing lax couriers...

No, don’t scold yourself. It can’t be an urgent matter, no matter how tightly that rice paper is tied up. If it were, Lord Murakami would’ve sent someone on horseback, with more than one guard.

And as long as they arrived at the castle the next day…

A rattling noise from the window panel pulled him out of his future excuse-making factory and over to the futon.

He lay down and wrapped himself in the cover, trying not to picture snow demons advancing on the cabin outside. Or inside. Or in the ceiling above his bed.

Out in the corridor, nothing. Pure silence.

Either his comrade was having the quietest sex in Japanese history or he’d already finished and decided to sleep next to a pretty naked woman instead of him.

Fair enough, he’d probably do the same, if he were the one with the katana…

Another rattling from the window panel.

‘Kuso…’ the courier muttered, pulling the covers tighter for a second then throwing them off and stumbling over to the wall at the side.

Letting out a breath of audible irritation, he slid open the panel on the left and looked out onto the snow-caked mountain.

And almost sucked his heart into his stomach.

‘Gods of overcooked rice…’

About fifty metres distant, on both the branches and the ground, were twenty, thirty owls, eyes all fixed on him.

Friends of friends of friends of dinner, he thought, sliding the panel shut and diving back under the covers of the futon. They’d sensed the murder of the other owl and now they were there to exact revenge.

Kuso, kuso, kuso, kuso…

He pulled some of the cover down and peered at the window, making sure it really was shut.

Then jumped again as the rattling noise returned.

‘Could really use a professional ashigaru round about now,’ he whispered, turning to the door panel and willing it to open.

And, to his surprise, it did.

Only it wasn’t the guard standing there, blade drawn, ready to decapitate a dozen more owls, but the pale woman, Natsu, in the flimsiest of night gowns.

In fact, her kosode was so thin in its material that, as she glided into the room, he could make out her the lines of her thighs and…even the shape of her nipples.

Kuuuuu-so.

‘You are not asleep,’ she said, coming to a stop by the edge of the futon.

‘Outside…there were noises.’

She crouched down, pulling his bag closer, dipping a pale hand inside.

‘Err…that’s Lord Murakami’s…’

‘Do not be afraid of the owls,’ she replied, bringing out the rolled-up rice paper and then slowly, without even looking at the knot, untying it. ‘They will not act unless I give the command. Which I have no intention of doing.’

The courier tried a nod, but mostly just made the covers go up and down instead. He thought about asking where the guard was, but something about the way she was reading the letter gave him the distinct impression that it was somewhere not good.

‘I have to deliver that letter tomorrow. To the castle of Lord Yukidaruma.’

Natsu’s eyes reached the bottom of the page and moved up to the top again. When it had been read a second time, she folded it up in a different way from the original method and smiled.

‘Men…’

The courier shifted to the edge of the futon, away from the pale goddess, his brain telling him to stop being such a coward and go the other way, into the gap between her thighs, and then another part of his brain scolding him for being too slow, and another part praising him for maximising the erotic anticipation of the moment when he would-

‘You do not need to worry about the letter, young man,’ Natsu interrupted, moving without arm leverage on top of him, ‘I shall deliver it for you.’

‘Err…that’s okay. I can-…’

‘You just lie still.’

Another rattle of the window panel, this time loud enough to provoke a response…but not a good one, as Natsu lifted her left arm and flicked her fingers crookedly…somehow pulling open the wooden slab.

‘The owls…’ protested the courier, as the winter fumes seeped in to the room, and dozens of yellow eyes instantly appeared by the window frame.

‘Your voice,’ said Natsu, lowering her lips to his ear, ‘reminds me of a boy I once met. A strange soul…’

‘Please…the window…’

Her face retreated, hovering over him with snow-white eyes, breath almost tainted blue as it came out from the abyss of her mouth.

‘Natsu…’

She flinched, played the name back in her head then smiled. Leaned down and kissed the courier on the lips. Held out a hand to stop an impatient owl as it hopped down onto the tatami. Switched from kissing to blowing…then to sucking. Rode out the death spasms from the courier’s arms. And, finally, pulled back a few inches to assess her work.

‘Actually, it’s Yuki,’ she whispered to the death mask of the boy, before moving off the futon and gliding over to the door panel, turning once to give the hand signal to the owls then exiting before the melee of the clean-up began.