Matabar

The wind stirred up whirlwinds of snow, twisting it into spirals, or sometimes spreading it out wide like sheets, covering the mountain paths and hiding the sharp stones that seemed eager to trip an unwary traveler.

Ergar did not stumble.

His powerful paws moved over the loose surface of the snow with the same ease with which a water strider skims the surface of an undisturbed lake. His tails, lowered to the ground, swept away the barely perceptible tracks he left in his wake. He moved smoothly, yet firmly and confidently, always choosing a path where the wind would blow directly into his face.

Their path was anything but straightforward. It formed an intricate pattern of twists, turns, jumps, descents, and climbs. And every time Ardi thought he had finally spotted a landmark ahead, hoping they would soon reach it, Ergar would change direction, turning what had at first seemed like a five-minute walk into a twenty-minute trek.

Unlike the snow leopard, the boy had neither the bulging muscles that allowed the beast to leap several meters in a single bound, nor the long tails that helped him balance even on the thinnest ledges that hung over bottomless chasms, nor a warm fur coat.

Ardi was a tough child. In the past, as soon as the first cold snap arrived, his grandfather, with Hector’s reluctant consent, would take him to bathe in the icy stream every morning, noon, and night, and leave him to dry in the wind afterwards.

But no icy stream, even in the harshest of winters when the house was unable to protect them from the biting cold, could compare to the winds of the Alcade during winter.

Ardi remembered some of his grandfather’s stories about disobedient children of the Matabar tribe who, after going for a walk along the mountain paths, had never returned home and remained frozen forever, acting as ice sculpture guardians of the secret paths.

Just as he thought of this, another gust of wind swirled the snow around him, enveloping the boy in a cold, white blanket. Ardi shivered, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as he tried to warm himself while wearing tattered rags unsuitable even for a milder season. Suddenly, he realized he couldn’t move.

His fingers wouldn’t obey him, and as for his legs... He’d forgotten the last time he’d felt them, or anything below his waist, for that matter.

With great difficulty, Ardi stretched his hands out in front of him. Before, he hadn’t noticed any of this — he had simply not seen it. But now, through the veil of snow or whatever it was, he saw his hands trembling and something black clinging to his skin. He tried to brush it off, which made him scream in pain and almost fall into the snow. Barely able to stay on his feet, Ardi looked down at his legs — the blackness had already crept up to his knees.

“Ae... r...” Every sound that came from the boy’s cracked, bloodied lips sounded like a broken rattle being shaken by a careless toddler.

The snow leopard in front of him stopped. He turned his head and, with a twitch of his whiskers, walked calmly back to Ardi. Stepping lightly over the snowy ridges, he reached the child, who was now waist-deep in snow.

Silently, with only a slight squint in his eyes, he wrapped his tail around the boy and pulled him out of the icy trap, laying him down on the snow beside him.

“C... c...” Ardi’s teeth chattered so violently that he feared they would shatter against each other. Just before... just before Ergar had taken him, Ardi had lost a few teeth, much to the joy of his mother and grandfather, but the stern disapproval of his father. And now he feared that something was about to happen that shouldn’t.

“It’s not you who’s cold, cub,” the snow leopard said, sitting mockingly in front of the freezing boy, “it’s the human in you.”

The sound of his voice reached Ardi as if it were coming from very far away. It was lost in the howling wind, the crunching snow and ice, and the echoes that danced along the rare few ridges of black stone that jutted from the frozen landscape. They beckoned to Ardi, encouraging him, luring him forward, but he only sank deeper and deeper into a cold that he... almost didn’t feel anymore.

The boy’s body relaxed. His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into what felt like the warm embrace of wind and snow.

“I am human,” the child might have thought, or maybe he even said it.

Ergar’s silhouette seemed blurry and indistinct to him, as if seen through a rain-slicked window.

“Only half of you is, cub,” came the distant voice. “Do you know why the Matabar gave us their children only after six winters have passed? It’s because of your fangs, Ardan.”

The words were lost somewhere in the warm mist of oblivion, but the boy’s name wrapped around him and pulled him back into the light. Again, the wind bit at his cheeks and ears, and the cold burned his blackened flesh.

“You cannot survive without fangs on snowy trails, in deep forests, or near lakes and rivers,” Ergar’s voice stung the boy’s mind like a hundred biting mosquitoes, forcing him to stay on the surface and not let himself sink into warm oblivion. “In the few moons you’ve spent here, boy, you’ve grown them out. They may be weak right now, unreliable, but they are still fangs of Matabar blood from the Egobar line. Hunters of the snowy paths.”

Ardi tried desperately to escape, to wriggle out of the grip of his name and the snow leopard’s voice, but he couldn’t. Instead of warmth and sleep, he was floating in a sea of cold and pain.

“Look, little hunter, and watch carefully,” a small shard of ice appeared in front of the boy’s face. He could barely recognize himself in its reflection. His face, stung by icy bees, was swollen and red; his lips were chapped and blue; the hair on his head, his eyelashes and his eyebrows looked more like icicles. “Look...”

One of Ergar’s tails lifted the boy’s upper lip. It burst like an overripe tomato, making the boy howl and nearly choke on his own blood, which was so hot it seemed to melt his flesh.

And there, in the reflection of the ice shard, Ardi saw new teeth among his own. No, he’d had fangs before. His father had called them baby teeth, and his grandfather had called them human teeth. Well, they weren’t like Hector’s or Grandpa’s even now, but they still reminded him of theirs. They weren’t as long, not as sharp, but they were definitely much heavier and more pronounced than before. Strong enough to pierce a hide, tear through flesh, and sever an artery.

“You have something of the hunters in you,” Ergar said with a weary sigh. “Or perhaps the spirits of the past are too stupid to see otherwise...”

Ergar’s tail moved from the boy’s face to his chest, wrapped around it tightly, and lifted him up.

“Come, little hunter, it’s time you met your other half.”

For a moment, Ardi felt like he was flying. Mountain peaks passed by, flitting like birds among the frozen clouds. What had been loose snow, filled with countless traps, became solid ground, and icy needles turned into waving grass. It wasn’t until the pain eased and the warmth of the snow leopard slowly brought him back to his senses that he realized they weren’t flying at all.

Ergar was running.

Running so lightly and swiftly that even the eagles soaring overhead seemed like lazy flies in comparison. The snow leopard bounced off the smallest stone ledges, descended along paths so narrow they wouldn’t hold the blade of a knife, and his paws never sank more than a few inches into the snow. The softest and steepest slopes were no more challenging for him than a flat, straight path.

They climbed higher and higher until they suddenly stopped.

“Look, Ardan,” a deep growl sounded.

And Ardi looked.

Stone waves swirled between lands of cumulus and storm clouds. Enveloped in snow and caressed by harsh winds, like lifeless sculptures frozen in the eternal embrace of the sky, only the setting sun, not yet hidden by the dusk of the approaching night, generously gave its love and warmth to this land.

A pink-gold light spread out among the high azure, pouring down in a fiery rain of burning rays upon what had seemed dead just moments before, and was now blossoming, hungry for every breath of life.

Ardi saw strange and beautiful creatures, he saw plants that could only exist in his dreams and fantasies. Even the stones and rocks, the snow and ice, suddenly seemed alive to him...

It was as if the things he had always found simple and ordinary before, though beautiful, had been suddenly imbued with something from Grandpa’s old stories. Something with a mysterious, somewhat frightening, but oh so interesting name — magic.

“Everything you see around you is your land,” Ergar lowered the boy onto his shoulders. “The land of your ancestors. They guarded this place. They loved it. And they paid for it with more than blood. Breathe its scents in. Hear its sounds. Forget what humans call this place. Remember the language of your ancestors, Ardan. Awaken it and say the name. The name of this land and of your people.”

And Ardi did.

He breathed in the snow and ice, he heard the wind and the stones, he remembered Grandfather’s stories and the strange words he sometimes spoke. And something in the boy awoke. Or maybe it had never slept at all.

Deep inside him, under layers of unnecessary words and empty speech, it shook off the old leaves, stretched to its full height, and whispered a name. It fell from the boy’s lips, and he understood then that the simple term of “Alcade” couldn’t hold even a fraction of the meaning hidden beneath the snow and clouds.

The pain faded, and with it, the darkness across his flesh.

Ardi could still feel the cold, playfully nibbling at him here and there. But it no longer suffocated him, no longer gnawed at him like a rabid dog. The boy suddenly felt a lightness in his body — he felt like he could easily jump over the chopping block where his father had used to split firewood, and if he had to cross a stream now, he would simply swim across it instead of looking for a bridge.

“Go, little hunter,” Ergar whispered, lowering the boy to the snow. “Take your first steps.”

Ardi placed his feet carefully on the loose snow, expecting it to bite into his skin with icy fangs again, but... that didn’t happen. The cold grew stronger, but not enough to frighten him.

And his body, now so light and quick, stepped onto the snow of the peak, barely sinking into it, leaving an almost indistinguishable trail behind.

The boy laughed.

He ran, jumped around everywhere, leaped over great stones, and sometimes fell, rolling in the snow that had become as familiar to him as the tall grass near his home. Sometimes, he would even hiss playfully and throw snowballs at Ergar. The snow leopard, who was lying on a rock, would just snort and deflect the snowballs with one of his tails.

As he watched the half-blood play in the snow, resembling a kitten that had just opened its eyes, he thought that perhaps the old man’s words hadn’t been so foolish and absurd after all, but then he pushed the thought away. The fact that Hector’s kid had managed to awaken the blood of his ancestors didn’t mean much. Every other Matabar cub had been born with what Ardi had just discovered.

Not to mention the fact that the boy needed not only fangs — if you could even call those little nubs fangs — but also claws and a strong body. And Ardan...

Ergar watched as the boy rolled in the snow.

It would be a miracle if he survived even two winters. But those were thoughts for another day. For now, he would let him play a little, before the Spirit of the Day retired and opened the hunting paths.

When the world around him began to turn gray, shrouded in a mist, the hunter knew — it was time.

Ergar gave a short growl, and the boy, finished with his snow games, stood up and shook himself off. Snow flew from him in clumps, spreading the boy’s scent everywhere. The snow leopard scowled in displeasure. What most of the Matabar hunters had taught their cubs from practically birth had passed this strange two-legged creature by.

With a flick of his head in the direction of the slope, Ergar jumped off the rock. The snow leopard didn’t even look back as they descended. If Ardan stumbled and fell into the abyss, breaking every bone in his body and traversing the Paths of the Ancestors, then so be it. Ergar had not promised the old man that he would raise the cub as his own. It was already enough that he had to spend six winters with the boy without even being his rightful teacher.

But the boy didn’t stumble.

Ardi, still somewhat dizzy from the incredible lightness that had replaced the cold and pain, ran after Ergar. He didn’t quite understand what had happened to him. In Grandpa’s stories, there were sometimes people who turned into animals. Grandfather had called them werewolves. Some were magical, cursed by wizards and sorcerers, while others were half-bloods, born of the Fae people.

But Ardi knew that he wasn’t a werewolf. His father and mother didn’t belong to those who lived beyond the hills, and he certainly hadn’t wronged a wizard. Unless...

The boy watched Ergar leap over a deep crevice with ease. It felt like a snow leopard the size of a horse should move clumsily and slowly, but he was the exact opposite of that. Even the birds that flew freely between the clouds seemed graceless and awkward compared to Ergar.

Ardi stopped in front of the rift. With fingers that were no longer so cold, and thankfully not blackened, he pushed a small stone down. It clattered against the walls of the crevice, the sound of the impacts becoming fainter and fainter until it disappeared altogether. Falling into such a chasm meant certain death.

But the boy felt no fear. An hour ago, if he had seen a chasm just over a meter wide, he might have tried to find a way around it, but not now. And it wasn’t even because of the snow leopard, whose tail was gradually disappearing down the slope — Ergar hadn’t stopped to wait for his pupil.

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Ardi just knew that he could jump over this obstacle.

Smiling, almost laughing, he took a running start and pushed off the edge.

The wind blew into his face. The sky was so close and familiar. He could reach out and catch a bird in the clouds, just like when he and Grandpa had used to fish in the swift stream.

The jump, which lasted but a moment, became the embodiment of Ardi’s dreams in which he flew over his native valley. His mother had said that such dreams meant that he was growing. Maybe that was the case — but in that moment, he was really flying, until he learned the bitter truth.

Something poked him in the side, then hit him hard on the nose. Ardi tumbled down the slope, unable to keep his balance as he landed. Grunting and cursing himself, the boy stood up and rubbed at the new sore spot.

What had Grandpa always said?

Birds fall harder than people?

But soon enough, something else caught the boy’s attention. When he’d hit a rock with his side, he had cut his skin. On a normal day, he would have needed his mother’s ointment, a bandage, and a few weeks to heal up. But now he was surprised to find that the blood on his side had already dried, forming a thick crust, and the wound barely hurt when he didn’t press directly on it.

Ardi was about to pick at the scab when he heard a warning growl.

“What did your father teach you, boy?” Ergar suddenly appeared behind him. Ardi hadn’t heard his footsteps or felt his breath. “Don’t touch a dried wound if you don’t want maggots to appear.”

The boy pulled his hand away from his side in horror, then stammered, “M-maggots?”

The snow leopard snorted in disgust.

“I don’t repeat myself, cub. Ever. Remember that,” Ergar turned and continued down the slope.

Ardi, after glancing cautiously at his wound, hurried after the snow leopard. He didn’t know why they’d taken this path and not another. He had no idea where they were headed. The boy just enjoyed how the wind was playing with his growing hair, and how his legs, suddenly strong and fast, allowed him to run along the snowy ridges.

The world around him became clearer and a little deeper. The boy saw colors whose names he didn’t know. He smelled scents whose meanings and owners he couldn’t identify. It all reminded him of...

Reminded him of...

Ardi froze.

Something in his chest hurt.

A cloud of steam escaped his mouth and his body began to tremble. The cold, laughing like a hungry wolf, began to gnaw at his flesh, licking his bones. Ardi fell into the snow. He was cold, so cold…

“The human in you mourns your father, little hunter,” came Ergar’s voice. “It longs for your mother, it grieves for your grandfather. But that’s all human, Ardan. Listen to my voice... For six winters, you lived in the skin of those who came to this land to take and destroy. And for only a few steps of the Spirit of the Day, you’ve lived in the skin of one who simply exists. Stay in it a little longer, little hunter. Allow yourself the chance to not feel the weight of a human heart.”

Ergar’s words, just like his grandfather’s, resonated deeply with the boy. But unlike Grandpa’s words, they didn’t feel foreign, they didn’t try to tear up or destroy anything. Instead, like a warm blanket, they wrapped around something important, but heavy, sharp, and piercing inside him. The snow leopard’s words wrapped that pain up, covered it, and pulled it deep down.

It became easier.

Not only for his body, but also for something else the boy didn’t know the name of yet.

“Sniff, little hunter. Smell is more reliable than sight. What do you smell?”

Ardi opened his nostrils and took a deep breath of the icy Alcadian air. For a moment, he felt dizzy. There were so many new things he could sense now.

“There’s water somewhere,” the boy replied, eyes closed, the cold forgotten. “And something... like goats, but different.”

Ardi opened his eyes. Nearby, on the rocks, lay Ergar. He had wrapped himself in his tails, his nose slightly lowered to blend in with the snowy ledge. If Ardi hadn’t known where to look, he wouldn’t have been able to see his teacher among the rocks and snow even from ten paces away.

“The water that flows higher up is dormant for the season, little hunter,” Ergar’s whiskers twitched oddly, reminding the boy of a grasshopper. “The ibexes can’t wake it with their hooves, so they come down lower — where the water never sleeps, not even in the darkest hours of the Queen’s reign.”

“The Queen?”

Ergar shook his head. In the weeks he’d spent in that cave, the boy had learned the habits of his teacher. When Ergar moved his nose sharply from side to side, it always meant one thing — don’t ask questions.

“Remember, little hunter, water is life. Where there is water, you can quench both your thirst and your hunger.”

With these words, the snow leopard’s tail flicked downward. The wind blew so that it lifted a blizzard toward the peak, twisting it into sharp braids. The boy had to lean out and squint, covering his eyes with his hand to see through the shimmering ice crystals.

Below, about five or six meters down, several ibexes — large creatures with heavy, twisted horns — stood on thin ledges. Their powerful, massive bodies, covered in thick fur, clung to the nearly vertical cliff. At first, Ardi didn’t understand why they were so tense, but when the wind paused for a moment, he spotted a group of small goats and kids through the dying snowstorm.

Far more modest looking than the males without all the intimidating adornments, they seemed to be licking the rocks, but if you looked closely, you could see small streams of cold water running down the slope.

“Father says it’s wrong to hunt animals when they’re at a waterhole,” Ardi whispered, moving away from the edge.

As soon as he said it, the cold came at him again like a ravenous, grinning dog, baring its teeth and curling its tail.

“Your father chose the human path, little hunter,” Ergar stepped down from his perch and pressed himself against the ledge. He tensed, drawing his legs in and stretching out his tail, pressing his nose to the snowy surface. “A beast hunts when it is hungry. There is neither honor nor dishonor in it, only the way, Ardan. And the way is as it is.”

Only the way... The thought etched itself into the boy’s mind, and the cold receded, while thoughts of his father and his teachings were lost somewhere amid the icy whirlwinds.

“When the hunt begins, cub, look for the smallest and the weakest,” Ergar’s words were sounding more and more like a wild growl to Ardi. “If you can’t kill with one blow, retreat. Don’t waste your strength. Now do as I do.”

Ardi expected Ergar to jump from his high vantage point and land on the prey like an eagle. The boy had seen several such scenes before while observing things from Hawk’s Cliff.

But it seemed like Ergar hadn’t even considered such an approach. Instead of leaping down, the snow leopard began to descend more gradually. Slowly at first, sliding down the slope like a snake, leaning on even the smallest ledges, the predator descended deeper and deeper. The snow became his cloak, hiding the barely perceptible blue spots on his fur, and the wind hid his scent, leaving the alert male ibexes unaware of his approach.

And when they were only a few yards from their goal, Ergar pushed off the cliff.

The boy had never thought an animal could move at the speed of light, but that’s what he saw. There was a white blur, gleaming with steel claws, and then he heard the thunder of nearly cracking rocks and a terrifying roar:

“What are you waiting for?” And then jaws closed around the neck of the nearest ibex.

Ardi froze. Sticky fingers gripped his heart again, twisting and kneading it like his mother kneading dough before baking his favorite cake...

The first drops of blood, the bleating of the convulsing ibex pinned beneath Ergar, the sight of exposed flesh peeking out from under torn hide… He watched as the herd, both goats and kids, and then the bleating males as well, scattered in a panic, how greedily Ergar tore into and crushed his prey — all of this turned the world around Ardi red.

He’d thought he knew this feeling already. He’d thought he was prepared for it. He’d thought wrong.

Now that he could see even the finest details, feel all the shades of bloodshed, and understand the full horror of hunger being sated in the most primal way possible…

The boy rushed forward.

He didn’t know if he was clinging to the ledges with his feet or his hands. He bounced off the rocks, tore his skin, tumbled down the slope, past Ergar tearing into his prey, and ran on. His swift legs carried him after the fleeing herd, his breath coming in rapid gasps and his racing heart trying to outpace him and reach the prey first.

The world around Ardi turned orange, then fiery, and finally, crimson. All he saw was the fleeing kid. And all he felt was the whip of hunger driving him on.

When he was a hair’s breadth from his goal, something struck him in the chest with such force that he forgot to breathe. He was knocked backwards, scraping his back against the sharp rocks and leaving a deep, bloody trail in the snow. Ardi froze. Unable to move, the boy watched as a living mountain stepped in front of him. It rumbled with heavy footsteps that shook the ground, the snowflakes flying after it on the currents of the tamed wind.

“Your hunt ends here, you little-”

A terrifying roar made the living mountain pause. Ergar emerged from the storm and wind and stood before Ardi. His long claws gleamed in the light of the rising stars, and his tails struck the icy ground, cracking it and sending great flakes of snow into the air.

“Ergar, Storm of the Mountain Peaks,” the living mountain said, but the more Ardi looked at it, the more he realized that his eyes had deceived him.

The voice did not belong to a mountain, but to an ibex. It was much larger than the ones that had fled. It seemed to be the size of a small barn, and it had not one, but two pairs of horns. They were massive enough to make the young branches of an oak tree envious.

Where this strange beast stepped, the snow melted and grass and flowers bloomed.

“Lenos, Guardian of the Southern Gates,” the snow leopard said calmly. “What brings you here in the dead of winter?”

Lenos remained silent. Instead of answering, he just thumped the ground with his hoof and, looking over Ergar’s shoulder at the boy pressed into the snow, he said, “He tried to kill my daughter, Ergar. Step aside and let my hooves crush his bones and my horns tear his flesh apart.”

Lenos was about to move when a growl, deeper and longer than any Ardi had ever heard before, literally shook the rocks. They rumbled and shed part of their icy caps. Snow swirled in the sky, forming dozens of long, thin icicles that rained down on Lenos without touching his fur, forming a shimmering palisade.

“You think this will stop me, older brother?”

“It won’t,” the snow leopard laid down on the ground, demonstratively relaxing. Blood still dripped from his whiskers and fur. “But it will remind you, Lenos, that we have the right to satisfy our hunger.”

“And we have the right to defend our lives!” The ibex bellowed, stomping the ground again, causing the grass and flowers beneath his hooves to rise and shatter the icicles.

“But I don’t seem to recall, wise Guardian, the Queens ever allowing us to interfere with the paths of the lesser ones,” Ergar yawned lazily, even mockingly, baring his crimson fangs. “Or should I ask one of the courtiers to mediate?”

Lenos thumped his hoof again, then snorted so hard that the cloud of steam from his wide nostrils melted the surrounding snow, exposing the black stones beneath.

“If they hear us,” the ibex replied with an equal amount of derision, then straightened and gave the boy a quick, scornful glance. “He stinks of man and iron, Ergar. I did not think that one whose name I hear among the mountain storms would ever fall so low.”

With that, Lenos turned and... dove into the grass. Ardi would’ve rubbed his eyes if he could move his hands. He couldn’t tell whether this was an illusion or not, but it seemed as if Lenos had just jumped headfirst into the flowers like a trout and disappeared into the small meadow.

“Can you stand, cub?” Ergar asked, towering over the boy.

The boy tried to stand, but only groaned in pain as the liquid fire spread throughout his body.

The snow leopard growled in displeasure.

“What a disgrace to the hunters’ paths,” he muttered, but then gently and carefully wrapped the boy in his tails — eliciting another groan — and laid him on his back. In a few leaps, he returned to the plateau, grabbed the still warm ibex carcass by its scruff, and raced back to the cave. The boy, who was now lying on the snow leopard’s broad, fluffy, warm back, glanced behind them at where the meadow was already iced over. For the first time in a long time, he realized how long it had been since he had last seen the forest.

***

Ardi was awakened by hunger. It was a strange feeling, like there was a hole in his stomach that was gradually sucking in his entire body and then his thoughts. When the smell of blood and meat reached his nose before he could see anything, he grabbed a bone and tore into what was left on it without any conscious thought.

At that moment, neither the dull ache in his ribs, nor his bloodied knees and elbows, nor the torn skin on his shoulders bothered him. Gnawing at the warm flesh, choking on the oozing blood, tearing at the fibers with his teeth, and ripping into the sinews, Ardi didn’t stop until he had sucked the marrow from the bone he had smashed against a rock.

But even then, the hunger inside him only eased a little. He still wanted to eat.

Scanning the cave with his eyes, he saw Ergar gnawing at the last bone. The boy, not knowing why, pressed himself against the wall and began to circle around the snow leopard and his prey. When he found himself behind Ergar, he was just about to leap onto the creature’s back when he received a sharp blow to his stomach from the beast’s tail.

Falling to his knees and panting, Ardi slowly regained his senses.

Had he really been about to attack the snow leopard?

“And that’s your third lesson for today, little hunter,” the snow leopard said mockingly, spitting out the bone. “Now be so kind as to tell me what you’ve learned today, cub.”

Catching his breath, Ardi managed to sit up, and leaning on Ergar’s paw, which radiated warmth and was much softer than the rocks, he began.

“Don’t chase after prey.”

Ergar nodded and added, “If you know you can’t catch it. If you can’t kill with the first strike, retreat. Don’t waste your strength. Good, cub. What else?”

Ardi thought back on the day. It seemed longer than his whole life thus far. So much had happened. So many strange, wonderful and... incredibly interesting things had happened!

“Always hunt at the water,” he continued, though not very confidently, with a hint of a question in his tone.

“If you always hunt at the water, they’ll stop coming there. No, cub, think harder.”

The boy mulled it over. What had happened today that had made his hunt fail? He had been fast — much faster than the Ardi he had known for the past six years. His sense of smell had allowed him to distinguish even the finest details of the rich scents in the air. And his eyes... it seemed as if he had been half asleep before, and now, after washing his face with cold water, he was fully awake, seeing everything clearly.

And yet, Ardi had...

“Prey... does not want to be caught.”

“And...” Ergar prompted.

“I’m... not the... best hunter.”

“Not yet the best,” Ergar stressed. “The more you hunt, cub, the better your skills will become, and your fangs will grow sharper and your claws faster. Never let a full stomach and an abundance of game and water make you feel on top. Always be vigilant, especially of yourself. You’re not just hunting game, boy, you’re hunting hunger, and believe me, it’s trickier and more cunning than any squirrel.”

A squirrel... Skusty... A few thoughts popped into Ardi’s head, but they were quickly drowned out by Ergar’s voice.

“And the third lesson, Ardan, the most important you’ve learned today.”

The boy looked at the purple bruise on his side, at the small red stripe on his chest, and then at the long fangs of Ergar. The sticky fingers crawled over the boy’s body again.

“Choose prey that matches your strength,” Ardi whispered.

“Correct, cub,” Ergar growled, then turned to face the entrance of the cave. He gazed at the horizon, which was blossoming with scarlet and pink. “And that’s the only rule you’ll have to break when the time comes.”

The boy wanted to ask something then, but instead of the question on the tip of his tongue, he asked another:

“Do the Sidhe really exist?”

Ergar twitched his tail and turned to face the boy. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, making the mighty predator look like a playful house cat.

“Why do you think they shouldn’t exist, little hunter?”

Ardi replied with all the surety and reason of a six-year-old, “Because Grandpa told me stories about them.”

For a moment, the walls of the cave shook with the rhythmic growl that came in waves. Ardi had never heard a snow leopard laugh before, and at first, he was a little frightened.

But Ergar kept laughing until he nearly fell off his customary perch. He regained his composure and resumed his favorite lazy reclining position.

“Yes, Ardi, they do exist. But don’t ask me how to call upon them, or more importantly, how to find them.”

“Why?”

“Because Lenos is right — you still smell of humans and iron. And to the Sidhe, as to any Fae, there’s no worse smell than the smell of iron.”

The boy nodded. Grandfather had told him something similar.

“Now go, cub, play while I nap,” Ergar closed his eyes. “When the Spirit of the Day goes to rest, we’ll hit the hunting trails again, but this time, if you miss, I won’t share my catch with you.”

Ardi spent the entire evening running and jumping around the cave and even beyond it, delighted at how responsive his body was and how quick and easy his movements were. He darted through the Foyer, soared to the top of the Attic, and when he got tired, he lay down on the sun-warmed rocks and chewed on some snow. The icy water ran down his throat and lips, tickling and prickling his body.

In the evening, Ergar took him on another hunt. But once again, the boy failed to catch his prey, which had been a mountain goat this time. And so he had to go to bed with an empty stomach. On the second day, they encountered a young snow leopard who challenged Ardi, but Ergar said the cub was too small and would accept the challenge when he grew his fangs and claws out properly. The other snow leopard didn’t dare argue, but refused to share a path with him.

This was Ardi’s fourth lesson — sometimes, you have to fight for your prey.

Three more days passed in the same manner. On the fourth day, the boy began to feel the hunger consuming him, but he knew he shouldn’t tell Ergar — the snow leopard had already said he wouldn’t share his prey with him.

Using the snow leopard’s lessons, the boy managed to catch a plump, unsuspecting bird resting on a ledge. This became his first kill, which he hastened to boast about to Ergar. The snow leopard even nodded in approval, but immediately added sternly that such kills were the lot of old and weak hunters. That didn’t stop the boy from devouring his dinner, though.

It was not until the end of his second week of hunting that the boy finally managed to catch a small goat. And as his body pinned the creature to the rocks as his hands wrapped around its neck, the young hunter no longer had any doubts.

He was hungry.

He had found food.

He had caught it in a fair contest of speed and agility.

Now it was his dinner.

Small hands twisted the tiny neck of the goat, and the hunter sank his fangs into its hard skin. As he bathed in warm blood and tore at its flesh, he was too engrossed to notice Ergar sitting higher up the slope, smiling broadly.

And that was how Ardi spent his first winter in the Alcade Mountains: hunting, playing games and talking with the snow leopard.

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