Chapter Twelve

THE WIND BLEW COLD and hard across the frozen plain, coming in vicious bursts broken up by deceptive moments of calm. It carried no scent but that of ice and rock.

“How much longer should we—” Frost began, but the wind cut him off, crossing between the leopard cubs with a howl and forcing Frost to turn his head and squeeze his eyes closed against a shower of sleet.

Ghost hunkered down, trying to sniff at the ground, but he could smell nothing except the other cubs. His stomach rumbled, loud enough that the whistling wind didn’t quite cover it.

The deer had been good, while it lasted. The cubs had been full, and content. But even a whole deer couldn’t last a family of five leopards forever, and now it was all gone and they were hungry again. Ghost stared across the rocky, empty expanse.

I’ll never know what it’s like not to go hungry between meals, he thought. I’ll never be a good enough hunter for that. . . .

“Just a little longer,” said Snowstorm. “The wind might’ve driven the prey underground. Focus on sniffing for burrows and dens.”

“Ghost,” said Shiver. “Have you tried it yet?”

Ghost sighed. He knew Shiver meant well. She wanted to remind the others of his triumph with the deer. But the problem was, he had tried asking the Snow Cat for help. He’d asked four times already that morning, and there had been no warm breath on his fur and no paw prints in the snow.

“The Snow Cat’s not going to do all our hunting for us,” Snowstorm told Shiver, before Ghost could answer.

“Anyway, maybe we really did just get lucky last time,” Frost muttered.

“It was real,” Ghost said. “I know it.”

“Hmm,” said Frost, and looked away to sniff at the ground.

Ghost closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky.

“Snow Cat, please show us your paw prints that we may follow them,” he said, but in his heart he wanted to beg the Snow Cat for more than just prey. He wanted answers.

Snow Cat, why would you help me before, and not now? Why would you make me feel useful, then show me that I’m not at all? If you have a purpose for me, if I have a place on this mountain, why do you always hide it from me?

The Snow Cat didn’t answer.

The cubs split up to search the ice field for burrowing creatures, but though Shiver found the scent of a hare, when they dug out the burrow, it was empty.

“Let’s go,” Frost yowled to the others eventually. “This isn’t worth it.”

Ghost nodded, and a few of the ice crystals that had attached themselves to the tips of his fur crumbled off. The cubs’ tails were all crunchy with frost.

“Let’s head for the trees,” Snowstorm agreed. “It’s more sheltered. Maybe there’ll be prey there.”

She led the way across the expanse of rock and snow toward a dark line of treetops at the edge of the ridge. As the cubs walked, the clouds ahead of them broke up, so that thin streams of sunlight began to sweep across the landscape, moving and changing with the swift flow of the clouds high overhead. The sun was warm, but so bright that when it caught the cubs head-on, it half blinded them, stopping them in their tracks just as surely as the blistering wind.

They climbed down a snowy slope to the edge of the small forest. Thin pine trees clung to the mountain, growing up between the cracks in the rocks. Each rough trunk branched into two or three spreading needle canopies at the top, casting dark zigzagging shadows over the ground as the bright shafts of sunlight passed over them.

“Walk as silently as you can,” Snowstorm whispered, repeating Winter’s advice. “The pine needles are crunchy, so keep to the rocks. And don’t forget, the prey could be above us.”

Ghost glanced up at the branches of the trees. He knew he could climb up, but what would he do when he got there? He couldn’t pounce to save his life on a flat surface, so he certainly wasn’t going to try it in a tree. . . .

Parts of the forest floor were flat stretches of soft earth under a thin carpet of snow and pine needles. In other places the trees grew right out from between shelves of rock that formed steps and ridges along the edge of the mountain.

Snowstorm, Frost, and even Shiver seemed to have no problem finding their way through the uneven landscape, bounding down drops twice as tall as they were, keeping balance with their tails, leaping from rock to tree branch and back.

Ghost watched silently as they started to draw away from him. He didn’t bother calling out to them to wait. He wasn’t sure he could go where they were going at all, let alone at their speed. He’d let them get on with it. It would be better for them all if one of them caught something. He wouldn’t be bitter. He wouldn’t let himself.

His heart was heavy, though, as he nosed around the rocks to find a way that was safe for him to go. The shafts of light cutting through the tree trunks made the patches of snow on the ground glow sparkling white, and Ghost found himself dazzled more than once, stopping not just to keep his balance, but to blink away the dancing afterimages.

He paused at the edge of a wide crack that sloped down between two rocks, sniffing around for prey. If he was very, very lucky, he might find a fat partridge sleeping in the warm shafts of sunlight, or maybe a completely deaf squirrel. . . .

But it wasn’t the scent of living prey that he found. Instead he smelled something completely unfamiliar. It reminded him of earth, mulchy and wet like the lowest slopes of the mountain, and the smell of old blood. It was a predator smell, but it was definitely not a leopard.

Something’s here. . . .

He pulled back, looking around for his siblings.

There was no sign of them.

“Shiver?” He called his littermate’s name, but softly, hoping that she might be nearby after all. But there was no reply.

He turned and climbed up the nearest pine tree, his paws shaky on the rough trunk. Normally, climbing was one thing he could do as well and almost as quietly as his littermates, but anxiety made him hurry, and the tree branch bent and swayed underneath him as he pulled himself up onto it.

He still couldn’t see them, though he squinted into the shafts of light and shadow for a long moment, looking for any movement against the snow. He paused, freezing as still as possible and sniffing the air for the familiar scents of fluff and of Winter’s den, straining his ears for the sound of pine needles crackling under paws. . . .

Then a frightened yowl echoed between the rocks, and Ghost’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He slid from the branch and down the trunk in a controlled tumble, landing hard on his flank on the rock below. The sound had come from just over a ridge of rock in front of him. He clambered up as fast as he could, finding claw holds and pushing himself off the jutting trunks of trees, until at last he came to the top and looked down onto a wide shelf, circled with trees and carpeted with pine needles, where Shiver, Snowstorm, and Frost were all huddled with their backs to a sheer rock face.

Stalking closer to them, surrounding them and cutting off their escape, were three strange creatures. They had short, black fur, and they weren’t like the leopards—for a start, they were bigger. On their chests they bore a bright orange circle, almost like a huge version of a leopard’s spot.

They moved slowly, almost clumsily, but there was a power in their bunched muscles. Their faces were long, with pale orange muzzles that came to a point at a round nose, and no whiskers at all. They were snarling furiously at the three leopard cubs. One of them opened its jaws, and Ghost saw a long tongue curl out, tasting the air.

“Who trespasses on our resting place?” the largest of the three creatures snarled, in a voice like thunder rolling over the mountain. Now that he looked closer, one of the things was smaller than the other two—a cub? It was bigger than any of the leopards, though not very much bigger than Ghost himself. The other two were a male and a female, most likely the cub’s parents.

He saw Snowstorm steel herself, her fur standing on end, and step forward with her tail raised defensively high.

“We are the cubs Born of Winter,” she said bravely, keeping her voice steady. “And we didn’t mean to interrupt your sleep.”

“Leopards,” said the large female, sniffing. “They can be dangerous, but . . . these are such small ones. And I’m so hungry, Obsidian. . . .”

“Prey is scarce in this wretched frozen place,” growled her mate. He took a step forward, and the three cubs instinctively pressed together. Snowstorm bared her teeth, but she was trembling, her eyes wide with terror.

Ghost let out a roar and leaped. He landed hard and awkwardly on the next rock down, and then the next, making as much noise as he could as he jumped from ledge to ledge.

“Get away from my littermates!” he snarled as he landed in the clearing, baring his teeth and snapping his powerful jaws at the three strange black creatures. All three of them spun, kicking up pine needles, and stared at him in anger and confusion.

“What is this?” Obsidian roared. “What are you?”

“I’m a cub Born of Winter too!” Ghost roared back. “And I’ll snap your neck in my teeth if you hurt my littermates!”

Ghost had expected a fight. He’d expected the things to roar back, to flee if he was very lucky, and to kill him if he wasn’t. He was already half turning to yell to the others to run, when he saw the aggressive stances of the black creatures soften. They looked at each other, and then at Ghost, as if he had said something deeply confusing instead of threatening to kill them. The cub even sat back on its haunches and tilted its head.

“But it’s not a leopard. It’s a bear,” he said.

Ghost growled, but it was a weak, uncertain growl. “I’m no bear! What . . . what’s a bear?”

“We are,” said the female.

“Ghost’s nothing like you!” Shiver mewed, then hopped back behind Snowstorm when the female bear turned her pointed muzzle to look at her.

“No, he’s not one of us. We’re sun bears. The Great Dragon made the mark of the sun on us, see?” said Obsidian. He raised a paw to his chest and scratched at the orange mark with his claws. Ghost noticed that even though he seemed more relaxed now, the claws didn’t retract as he put them down.

“You’re a friend to these cats, little bear?” asked the female.

“They’re my littermates,” Ghost said again. Why couldn’t these bears understand that? He wasn’t like them at all. . . .

“Well, if they’re your . . . friends,” the female said, and Ghost bristled at her choice of word, “then we’ll spare them. You can all go.”

“Did you come to live here after the flood too?” asked the cub. He padded a few steps toward Ghost, sniffing the air.

“Careful, Shale,” said Obsidian, though he didn’t try to stop him.

“The flood destroyed our forest,” the cub went on. “That’s why we’re traveling through these mountains. Mother says it was warm there, and we ate fish, but I don’t remember. Did you come from somewhere like that?”

Ghost couldn’t really take in everything the bear cub was saying, but he shook his head.

“You’re—you’re all wrong. I come from here,” he said miserably. “I’m Born of Winter, just like them.”

“Then you must be some kind of snow bear,” said the female thoughtfully. “I wish you luck, whatever you are.” She turned, calling her cub to her with a jerk of her head, and Shale ran to her side. The bears began to pad away, climbing up over the rocks. The leopard cubs started to slink toward Ghost, keeping a careful distance from the bears as they did so. Before they vanished between the trees, the bear called Obsidian turned and looked down at Ghost. His expression was kind, but puzzled.

“Shale is right, cub,” he said. “You’re no leopard.”

And then he was gone over and down behind a rock shelf. The last thing Ghost saw was his stubby black tail.

“Well done, Ghost!” Snowstorm said, and rubbed her muzzle against his shoulder. “You saved us!”

Shiver bounced excitedly on the spot and jumped up over Ghost’s back, before curling against his flank to catch her breath. “You were so brave!”

Ghost just stared at the place where the bears had been. He felt cold, colder even than when the wind on the plain had been frosting his fur with ice crystals.

“Why did they think I was one of them?” he asked in a small voice.

“That was so weird.” Shiver gave Ghost’s closest paw an affectionate lick.

“I—I’m not one of them, am I?”

“No way,” said Frost. “There are no ‘snow bears.’” But he had a thoughtful look on his face as he looked at Ghost’s paws, and at his short tail, and it made Ghost’s heart race with panic.

Ghost turned to Snowstorm. She would tell him the truth. She was the one who always looked at both sides of things.

“Of course not,” she said. She padded in front of him and sat down, giving him a lick on the top of his head just like Winter had done for them all when they were small. “Ghost, you’re special—but you’re still one of us. We all know you’re Born of Winter, just like us. Where else could you have come from?”

They finally managed to scent and catch a couple of hares on the plains. They had come out of their burrows when the wind calmed and the bright sunlight warmed the air, and they made a good meal for the cubs Born of Winter before they headed home to the den.

As they walked down the slope, picking their way over rocks and down snowy banks, they passed by a rock face that was covered in ice. The sleet had added another layer of frost, and the sunshine had melted it so that the surface was slick and reflective.

The movement of Ghost’s reflection caught his eye and he looked. Then he stopped.

His littermates padded on, cheerful from their narrow escape and full bellies, and he let them walk ahead before he approached the ice and looked more closely at his own features.

He was larger and broader than a leopard should be. His muzzle was longer, his nose larger and rounder. His paws weren’t the same shape. His claws didn’t retract. His tail was short. His fur was thin, his head and ears were round, his legs were short . . .

Ghost began to shake as he sat there, alone on the side of the mountain, looking at his reflection and seeing, now that he had a name for it, a bear.

What is that? What am I?

A roar of agony built up in his chest, but he couldn’t let it out. The other cubs—the real cubs—would hear him, and would come back, and he couldn’t face them now. He reared up and clawed at the ice, but he couldn’t make it break away from the rock. All he did was leave jagged scratches across the surface, and even those melted away as he watched.

What am I?

Not a leopard. It was bitterly, comically obvious. He wondered how he had managed to convince himself he was a leopard all this time.

Winter lied to me.

A red flush of hate bubbled up inside him, new and raw and terrifying.

She lied! She let me think I was a broken, freakish leopard, when I’m something else completely! I’m not her cub. And I don’t belong here, just like Brisk and Sleet always said.

Ghost sank to the ground, still shaking, and curled up with his paws over his eyes, as if hiding from his reflection would make it not true.

Then where did I come from? Who is my real mother, if not Winter?

Who am I?