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The villagers of Yukimura loved the young Ichigo and Toshiro almost as much as they loved each other. They often said that Toshiro was like the winter - quiet, plain and quick to anger. Ichigo was like the summer - cheery, vibrant, smiling at everything he saw. But although the seasons were distant, the two boys were inseparable.
Ichigo liked to play in virgin snow, long before anyone had had the chance to mark it with their footprints. The thicker it had fallen, the better. Tramping out in his boots, coat and hat one morning, Ichigo launched himself face-first into the soft, freezing white stuff. He giggled as the cold numbed his skin.
Jumping up again, he ran around in circles with his arms spread wide, looking back to see the deep trenches his legs were making in the snow. On the fifth lap round, Ichigo tripped and fell.
As he lifted himself up, Ichigo heard a familiar voice say: “This is why you catch colds all the time.”
Toshiro was trudging towards him, his blue eyes as bright and harsh as the early winter morning, his thin little body half smothered under a heavy wool cloak. Tufts of black hair stuck out from under a hat far too big for its owner.
Toshiro was small, smaller than any boy in the village, but standing over Ichigo he was a giant.
“You’ll be caught again,” he said.
Ichigo pouted and stood up, stretching himself so he looked down at his friend. “No I won’t!”
“Will too.”
“You gonna tell?”
The boys glared at each other. Finally, Toshiro gave a shivering sigh. “Whatever, it’s too cold to argue.”
Ichigo grinned. “Wanna race?”
His friend smiled. “OK. Go!”
So they ran as fast as their heavy layers could allow, steadily climbing the mountainside, weaving between snow-dusted trees. As they ran, snow began to fall softly down.
“First one to that tree wins!” Ichigo panted, pointing to the pine directly ahead of them. He charged forward, only to trip on a root hidden in the snow and fall face-first into it.
“I didn’t know you liked snow that much!” Toshiro laughed, waiting as Ichigo struggled to his feet.
The race resumed, and they made a final sprint for the tree. Throwing themselves against the bark, the boys staggered to a halt, puffing white clouds of breath into the bitter air.
“I won,” Ichigo gasped.
“Stupid, I won,” said Toshiro.
“OK, it’s a tie.”
After they’d caught their breath, the two boys looked out past the trees toward the distant mountains surrounding their village. Far away, reflecting the morning light, the palace of the Ice King shimmered. The villagers called it the ‘Jewel of the Mountains’, and for as long as anyone could remember, that’s all the palace had been.
“Do you think the Ice King really lives there?” Ichigo wondered.
“Dunno,” Toshiro said. “My Grandma’s really old, but even she’s never seen him.”
Ichigo considered this. Toshiro’s grandma was old - really old - probably the oldest person in the village. Probably the oldest person in the entire world.. If she’d never seen him, nobody could have.
“I wish I was the Ice King,” Toshiro said, smirking. “Then I could turn into a cool dragon whenever I wanted. I dream about it a lot.”
Ichigo laughed, anxiety tickling his stomach. Toshiro was dangerously close to discovering the present Ichigo had gotten him for his birthday. “Yeah, that’d be so cool. Then we could fly around the world!”
Toshiro smiled. His eyes reflected the clear winter sky. “Yeah.” He looked at Ichigo and frowned. “What’s up? Your face is all red.”
Ichigo flushed even harder. “Shuddup, I’m hot!”
“You look like a strawberry!” Toshiro laughed.
“Shuddup!”
“Race you home,” said Toshiro, grinning.
Snow fell quietly down from the clouds above the Ice King’s palace as they ran. Halfway down, the boys gave up their race and broke into song.
Snow is falling, kon kon!
Hail is falling, kon kon!
The fields and hills are wearing
White cotton hats!
The night before his thirteenth birthday, Toshiro disappeared.
Ichigo was the only one who saw it happen. Waking up earlier than normal, his room grey and dim, he was startled by a furious rush of sleet and snow past his window. Looking out, he saw the long, twisting body of a dragon stretched from one end of the village to the other, its scales glistening in the moonlight.
A small figure in white nightclothes appeared in the corner of Ichigo’s eye, walking silently towards it.
Terror gripped Ichigo in its icy hand. Toshiro.
Throwing open the window, Ichigo screamed out: “TOSHIRO, NO!”
But Toshiro didn’t stop. He didn’t even look up. Silently, he climbed up onto the dragon’s back.
By the time Ichigo had reached the front door, the dragon had ascended into the clear winter sky. Its white body snaked through the blackness, and Ichigo could only watch as it disappeared into the mountains, where the Ice Palace stood.
The village searched everywhere - venturing as deep into the mountains as they dared, calling for Toshiro. They lit candles and prayed, begging the gods for his return, but with each setting of the sun hope dwindled.
“We’ve got to get him back!” Ichigo yelled. “Let’s go to the Ice Palace and get him back!”
Only Ichigo’s mother believed his story, but she too had that sad look in her eyes.
“Ichigo,” she said, “the Ice King is a powerful sorcerer. We’re just ordinary people. There’s nothing we can do.”
Ichigo had never been truly afraid until that moment. Somehow he had convinced himself that the adults would help, that somehow everything would be alright.
“I’m sorry, Ichigo,” his father said, reaching out. “He’s gone.”
Ichigo smacked his hand away. “No!” he shouted. “He’s not gone, he’s not!”
Ignoring the protests of his parents, Ichigo ran upstairs to his room, slamming the door as hard as he could. His head and heart were screaming: No, this can’t be.
That night, Ichigo left Yumikura. The next morning his parents would find a note on their kitchen table, telling them he had gone to get Toshiro, and that he would be back soon.
Ichigo kept his eyes fixed on the Ice Palace. It glistened like glass under the moonlight, illuminated on the white mountainside. It was far away, and Ichigo’s heavy steps through the snow made it seem further still, but the boy was undeterred.
The wind hissed in his ears, the sound like a slicing blade. "You’ll never find him!” it whispered, pinching his face.
“Shut up,” Ichigo muttered.
The wind cackled and gave him an icy slap.
As Ichigo began his ascent, the wind began to howl. A cold he had never experienced before seized his body like two invisible, clutching hands. Frozen with shock, Ichigo covered his face to protect himself from the onslaught of driving snow. Shrieking in triumph, the wind knocked the boy off his feet and threw him backwards down the mountain.
Ichigo dug his gloved hands deep into the snow to stop himself, but the wind pinned him in place. He screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the storm's howl.
Suddenly, as if it had never been there at all, the malicious pressure left his body. The wind screeched, but neither the noise nor the storm was directed towards him. Peering ahead, Ichigo saw all the trees creaking and bending, blasted by the wind’s malice.
Before he could wonder what happened, a pair of arms grabbed him from behind, picking him up.
Ichigo clung as hard as his frozen fingers would let him. The man carried him to a sled and shouted a command. There were some angry retorts, and the pair were rushed away through the trees.
The last thing Ichigo heard was the screaming of the wind.
When he woke up, Ichigo was lying under warm blankets in a bed he didn't recognise. He blinked slowly, and once fully awake turned to see a man dozing in a chair next to him.
He was young, lean and dressed in a winter yukata. Ichigo's eyes were drawn to his chin-length blonde hair. He had never seen another person with hair as bright as his own.
Drawn to a faint bubbling sound, he saw a kettle simmering on a black stove in the corner. A table and a chair stood nearby, close to the small log fire beside which his clothes were drying. Some oddly mismatched cabinets hugged the opposite wall, doors left open or closed seemingly at random.
Ichigo jumped as a yawn broke the silence. The dozing hermit opened his eyes and looked at him.
"So," he muttered. "Yer awake."
Ichigo suddenly felt shy and looked down at his blankets. "Yes, sir. Thanks to you."
The man nodded. "Uh-huh."
"I'm Ichigo."
"Hirako."
Ichigo bowed. "Thank you for saving me, Hirako-san."
"Uh-huh."
Hirako sat up and tapped Ichigo's head with a fist. "Say, kid," he said, "you sure you got brains in there?"
Ichigo blinked. "Um, yeah."
"Really? I heard an echo."
"Hey, I'm not--!"
"Not stupid?" Hirako shouted. "Then what in the damn hell possessed ya to climb this mountain alone?"
The silence that followed the man’s outburst was too much for Ichigo and he burst into tears. Deep down he had known it was hopeless and stupid. He knew that if the cold didn't kill him, the Ice King surely would. His father was right - the boy he loved was gone, and he was powerless to help him.
Hirako sighed. "Idiot."
Ichigo hiccuped between sobs. His heart was hurting in a way it never had before.
"Why, kid?" Hirako asked. "Why'd ya come all this way?"
Ichigo sniffed, staring miserably down at his tear-stained covers. He shut his eyes hard, but the memory stuck in his mind’s eye. “ - took Toshiro,” he croaked.
“Speak up, kid.”
“The Ice King took Toshiro!” Ichigo snapped, more angrily than he intended. He wanted to be at the palace now - right now - but instead he was laying in bed twiddling his thumbs.
Hirako wasn’t concerned with Ichigo’s anger. His eyes were filled with horror.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Damnit.” Hirako pressed the back of his fingers against his lips, staring hard. “He snapped.”
“What did he do to Toshiro?” Ichigo choked.
Hirako looked at him. “Don’t worry, he ain’t dead. That much I can say.”
Ichigo felt the embers of hope glow inside him. “How do you know?”
“I know the old fool well enough to know he ain’t a murderer. Stupid, but no murderer.”
Ichigo suddenly felt afraid. This was too good to be true. Who was this man, really, and why did he take all this so well?
“You really believe me?”
“You’re too dumb to lie.”
“Hey!”
Hirako grinned. “In all seriousness, no kid alive would come up with an excuse like that 'less it was true.”
Standing, Hirako went to the stove and took the boiling kettle off, pouring the contents into two cups. When he returned, he handed one to Ichigo. Ichigo eyed the orange liquid suspiciously. Hirako seemed as much a sorcerer as the Ice King was - there was no telling what this stuff would do.
“It ain’t poison!” said Hirako. He downed the potion in his own cup and gave Ichigo an irritated frown. “Drink, damnit!”
Ichigo obeyed - then gagged. It tasted like orange peel. Dry, disgusting peel.
“Ew!”
“I never said it tasted good!” cried Hirako. His left eyelid was twitching. "It works, though!"
Ichigo waited. Slowly but surely, the liquid filled his body with a profound warmth even cozier than sitting by a log fire.
Encouraged, he asked: “Hirako-san, can you help me?”
“Yes,” the man said, more readily than Ichigo had expected. “Get your clothes. We’ll go as soon you’re ready.”
Once he was dressed, Hirako led the boy outside his hut to where his sled was waiting. Tied to the sled were seven Shiba Inu dogs, all of them in different colours and sizes. The smallest and scruffiest dog with a cream coat led the rest. When it saw Hirako approaching it growled.
“Took ya long enough!” it barked.
Ichigo’s mouth fell open. “It talked!”
The dog snorted. “Look guys, a genius!”
“Hey, he’s a regular kid!” Hirako shot back, sitting Ichigo down on the sled and strapping him in.
The dog snarled.
A green, jumpy Shiba giggled.
Hirako exploded. “All of ya, shuddup!”
After the shouting died down, they set off, Hirako sitting behind the boy as they hissed across the snow. It was late afternoon, and the reddening sky brought night. They rode almost in complete silence, save for the occasional command or wisecrack from Shinji to his dogs, and vice versa.
As they ascended the mountain, the wind began to pick up. It hissed, it howled, and plunged down the mountain towards them, blowing up clouds of snow in its wake. There was a mighty boom, and half the mountainside caved and joined the wind in an avalanche of destruction.
Ichigo screamed and braced himself. Hirako grabbed hold of his collar and held him in place, standing to face the onslaught.
“You wanna do that old fart’s dirty work, fine!” he roared. “But we ain’t goin’ back!”
All of a sudden the avalanche halted, the wind stopped screaming, as if frozen in time. Ichigo exhaled a terrified breath. With a roar, the avalanche, the snow, the wind, all rushed back up the mountain as if blown back by the great god Fūjin himself.
In seconds, it was over, and silence ruled the mountains once more. Hirako sat back down in his seat, and commanded his dogs to run.
"Hirako-san," gasped Ichigo. "What did you just do?"
Hirako said nothing, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Higher and higher they climbed. Night had descended, and the mountain glowed under the moon’s silvery light. Ichigo looked up at the star-strewn sky and thought of Toshiro. Not even the shock of whatever Hirako had done at the mountain base could not keep the boy from his thoughts. The Ice Palace must be a horrible place, he thought. Freezing, frightening and lonely.
“Hirako-san?” he asked.
“What?”
“Why did the Ice King steal Toshiro?”
Ichigo felt the man’s chest rise up and down as he sighed. “Long time ago, I was in a pinch. I’d messed with a god, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna get off lightly. The Ice King saved me.”
“He saved you?”
Hirako nodded, eyes gazing into the misty distance. “I was sure I was gonna die. I was so grateful I almost bowed to him - a human! I said I’d grant him any desire, anything, within my power, that he has.” Hirako closed his eyes. “He said: ‘Great Spirit, make me immortal’.”
Ichigo’s eyes widened. The idea seemed so impossibly big, his young brain struggled to imagine it. “You can do that?”
.
Hirako sighed again. “Not quite. As I said, I ain’t no god. My power has limits.”
Reaching inside his yukata, Hirako took out a tiny golden hourglass, holding it in his palm for Ichigo to see. It sparkled in the moonlight.
“This is what I used earlier to stop Kazeshini.”
“Kazeshini?”
“Wind spirit,” Hirako explained. “Colossal bastard, too. Anyway, with this I can pull off things I wouldn’t normally be able to.” The tucked the hourglass away again. “Anyway, I can’t mess with people’s body clocks. I can’t stop nobody agin’. But I can stop time - in a finite area - so long as it don’t trespass on someone’s turf. Say, another spirit’s domain.”
“So what did you do?” Ichigo asked.
“I froze time within the Ice King’s palace,” Hirako said. “So long as he didn't leave that building, he’d live till the world ‘splodes. I couldn’t do more.”
“Didn’t you tell him?”
“I told ‘im all right!” Hirako exclaimed. “I told him over and over. I warned ‘im the novelty wouldn't live nearly as long as his icy ass. But the idiot insisted. Said I owed him. He was right. So I granted his wish.”
Hirako fell silent, and they drove on for some minutes without speaking.
“His wife and family found out what he had done and left the palace one by one,” he continued. “They didn’t want to be prisoners in his palace, and for my part I don’t blame ‘em.”
Ichigo looked up into Hirako’s pensive face. “That’s sad.”
Hirako glanced down, and for a moment Ichigo could see his age in his eyes. “Guess it is.”
The Ice Palace gleamed like a divine, towering jewel. Every turret, every window, every wall, every roof was ice. Two smaller spires flanked a single, great spire. There were no prizes for guessing which the Ice King resided in.
He marched off towards the great ice doors. He stopped when he heard footsteps, and to his amazement Hirako strode past him.
“Dumbass!” he said. “You don’t even know how to get inside! Stay back.”
They approached the great ice door as snow began to fall.
"There're no guards," Ichigo whispered, looking warily about.
"'Course there ain't!" said Hirako. "He's the Ice King."
He gave Ichigo a pointed look before fishing a tiny hourglass from inside his coat.
Ichigo watched as the man held out the object in the palm of his hand. It rose upward a little and hovered. It turned once, and a thunderous groan shook the ground beneath them as the doors began to open.
"What happened?" Ichigo cried, clinging to Hirako's waist.
"I got us in!" Hirako shouted, detaching the boy and pushing him forward. "Now hurry!"
Ichigo hurried, through a vast great hall with a gleaming ice chandelier towards a vast spiral staircase. He ran up the first few steps before slipping and falling hard.
"OW!"
"Idiot!" Hirako hissed, hauling him up and checking for cuts. Luckily, none this time. He stood, patting Ichigo's shoulder firmly. "Slow down!"
Gripping the railing with both hands, Ichigo began his slow ascent, with Hirako following close behind.
The temperature had dropped far below anything Ichigo had experienced outside. He shivered like a boy wracked with fever, and the cold bit the bare skin on his face raw.
Ichigo grit his teeth and pressed on. Toshiro was counting on him!
"Good boy," Hirako whispered. "That's the way."
Finally, they reached the top. A long corridor stretched before them, leading to a solitary door. Ichigo swallowed and began to walk.
"Is he really there?" he whispered.
"No doubt," Hirako said grimly. "I can feel it."
Reaching the door, he used his little hourglass to defy its master's will. With a creak, the door opened, revealing the great throne room and its two inhabitants.
The Ice King sat upon his throne; a huge, beautiful, glistening chair of ice chiseled into the shape of a dragon's maw. He was a tall, white-skinned man with long, flowing hair the colour of an aurora in the winter night sky, draped in flowing white robes. His piercing blue eyes froze Ichigo in place and the boy shivered.
Beside the king, on a smaller throne, sat Toshiro. He too was dressed in white, his skin as pale as his captors'.! Ichigo stared in wonder. Toshiro's hair was blanched as white as the newly fallen snow.
"Toshiro!" Ichigo shouted, rushing to him, grabbing his freezing hands in his and shaking him. "Toshiro, we've gotta go, come on!"
Toshiro only stared. His eyes were blue, but they were clouded and empty.
The Ice King's voice made him jump. The anger in it was steady and sharp. "Hirako," he said. "I should have known. Only you would be so foolish as to involve yourself in my affairs."
Hirako scoffed. "Big talk for a kidnapper! Where the hell d'you get off, snatchin' kids from their beds and playin' house?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"I understand plenty. I warned you!"
Ichigo rounded on the Ice King, boiling with anger. "What did you do to him?" he shouted. "Give Toshiro back!"
The Ice King gave the boy a withering look. "Foolish boy - neither you nor your friend have any power here."
Hirako stepped between them. "Leave the kid alone and stop this damned madness!"
Ichigo cupped Toshiro's white, freezing face in his hands. "Toshiro, it's me! Look at me!"
Toshiro only stared.
Terrified, Ichigo clung to Hirako’s cloak, begging. "Hirako-san, help him - please!"
Hirako looked at Ichigo with pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I can’t."
Tears rolled down Ichigo's cheeks. He looked at the Ice King and croaked: "Please."
The King was unmoved. His eyes were hard and glassy, like jewels. "Give up, boy. His heart belongs to me."
"Hyōrinmaru!" Hirako bellowed, seizing the king by the throat. Hirako hissed in pain as ice slowly encased his hand and crawled up his wrist.
"How dare you speak my name!" roared the king. "Unhand me, you worthless spirit!"
"I ain't lettin' go till you give us the boy!"
"So be it!"
Frightened and agonised, Ichigo threw his arms around his cold, empty friend and wept his heart out. He felt like his whole body was being crushed from the inside. His last hope had gone, now all that was left of Toshiro was a statue.
A soft thud close to his chest made him jump. Ichigo stared into Toshiro's empty eyes. Could it be? A heartbeat?
Ichigo pressed his ear against Toshiro's chest. It was! His heart was beating again, and his chest was rising and falling as he breathed. He was warm.
Ichigo looked at his friend's face and saw colour slowly returning to it. Most amazing of all, he saw tears spilling from Toshiro's beautiful blue eyes.
"Ichigo?" he whispered.
Ichigo flung his arms around his neck and wailed. Toshiro returned the hug, clinging to him as if he would never let go.
"You crazy idiot," he choked.
Hirako stared in wonder, his body half encased in ice. He grinned. "Well I'll be damned!"
Ichigo didn’t hear. He hugged Toshiro so tight he almost squeezed the breath out of him, sobbing and laughing.
“You’re crushing me,” Toshiro whispered.
The boys turned as Hirako cried out, staggering free from his icy bonds. The ice had thawed, leaving a puddle of water on the ground in front of the Ice King’s feet.
Everyone looked at the king. A single tear slid down his white cheek - but the eye it fell from had lost its glassy sheen.
Slowly, he sank down into his throne. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I traded my life for immortality … a long time ago. The fault is all mine.”
Ichigo grasped at Hirako’s yukata and looked at the Ice King and felt a pity. He was hunched and lifeless; a sad, old, old man.
“What ... what will you do now?” Ichigo asked.
The Ice King smiled weakly. “I will go out for a little while. It’s been too long since I have seen the sun.”
Ichigo’s mouth fell open. “But -!”
“Ichigo.” Hirako said, giving him a look.
The Ice King smiled at Ichigo. “You are a kind child.”
He apologised to them all again and made a motion to unlock and open the doors. They left together, the Ice King following behind.
“Don’t look back,” Hirako whispered quietly to the boys. “Not ‘till those doors shut.”
The walk to the entrance seemed so long. Squinting against the glare of the morning sun streaming through the great ice doors, Ichigo could feel the biting winter air against his face.
Finally, their feet crunched upon snow, leaving the palace behind. Ichigo heard an almighty groan as the doors closed for the last time, then slammed shut.
Hirako stopped. The boys stopped with him. Ichigo looked back just in time to see the Ice King’s robes fly away, carried by a gust of wind. The Ice King was nowhere to be seen.
Ichigo cried. Toshiro, whether he understood or not, embraced Ichigo and comforted him.
Hirako put a hand on his shoulder and patted it. “He’s not sufferin’ anymore.”
After Ichigo had calmed down, they made their way to Hirako’s sled. Ichigo held Toshiro’s hand so tightly he thought the boy would complain, but he didn’t.
The sun was rising over the mountains in the distance, flooding the snow-covered peaks in light.
“Hirako-san,” Toshiro said. “Thank you so much for helping me.”
Hirako waved a hand. “Don't worry about it. But if ya wanna pay me back, grow up and start earnin' money.”
Staring at the spirit's tall figure, Ichigo suddenly felt a wave of emotion and he threw his arms around the man’s waist, hugging him tight. “I love you, Hirako-san!”
Hirako tried to come out with a cool comeback, but all he could do was splutter nonsense. “Hey - you - that ain’t - ah, damnit!”
Giving up, he ruffled the Ichigo’s hair, smiling fondly down at him. “You’re a good kid. Stupid, but sweet.”
He looked at Toshiro. “You look after this kid for me, alright? Gods know he needs ya.”
Toshiro nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Ichigo detached himself from Hirako and took Toshiro’s hand. He felt so warm inside he couldn’t feel the winter chill anymore. Toshiro was here. He was really here.
Hirako looked out as the light slowly bathed the mountainscape. The boys looked out with him, holding hands, smiling.
“Let’s go home, kids.”