But she could feel the magic sapping her strength. Her body still hadn’t healed fully, and she knew she couldn’t remain aloft indefinitely. No, the two parts of her souls worked together. Her power of flight was connected to the physical strength of her body. She circled the column of rock, and as she swooped around the other side, she saw Quion leaping from a copse of trees lower on the rocky cliff. He landed in a drift that went up to his chest and started to clamber his way out as she slowly descended. By the time she reached him, he was on top of the snow again and covered in white powder.
He put his finger and thumb in his mouth and whistled loudly, and a few moments later, the snow leopard emerged from its lair and padded up to him. Bingmei held the cradle in front of her.
Quion stuffed the cricket into his pocket and then rubbed the snow leopard’s flanks. The animal gazed fixedly at the cradle and the little sounds coming from it. There was no growl, just a penetrating gaze, somber and quiet. Bingmei watched in amazement as the leopard lay down beside the cradle as if to protect it.
Quion looked at the mess he’d made in the snow. “We’re not going to be that hard to follow,” he said worriedly. “Remember when we tried to get away from Liekou after leaving the caves? He just followed our footprints until we reached the valley on the other side.”
That would be a problem. The dragons might not be able to see the footprints from the air, but she knew they had the ability to transform into humans they’d tasted. If they came to the rock and found no one there, they would search for tracks.
Bingmei furrowed her brow and thought, Is there a word that can conceal our tracks?
An image of a character surfaced in her mind. The word was Wuxing. It meant something without shape. Unseen. She set the basket down in the snow.
“Let me see your boots,” she said, squatting before Quion. He took them off and handed them to her, and she drew the word on each of them. “Now walk around,” she said, handing them back.
He put them back on and did as she’d asked. With each footstep, he trampled snow, but the snow immediately filled back in. Bingmei grinned at him as he ran in a circle, his smell giddy with relief, and she bent to draw the same symbols on her own boots.
They walked away from the pillar of stone, tromping through the snow. She glanced back from time to time, but she saw no evidence of their footsteps in the fading light of the day. As they continued to march, their feet growing colder and colder, she was struck by the realization that nothing guided them now. Before, she’d felt the phoenix shrine beckoning to them in the distance; now she felt nothing.
The basket seemed heavier and heavier as they went along, and Quion offered to take it. She helped him strap it to his back, above his pack, and they kept going. Shixian started to whimper, which made the snow leopard growl. They were all getting tired and hungry.
Just as the sun set and she saw the first glittering star in the heavens, Bingmei felt the dragons coming. One, and then another. And then more.
“He didn’t wait very long,” Bingmei said, gasping as they trudged through the snow. They needed shelter soon. And heat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Death of Winter
They’d found a cave to protect against the chill of the night. It wasn’t a deep cavern, like the one her ensign had used for shelter in Dongxue, but it offered protection from the wind and the snow. Bingmei drew the glyphs for heat on the innermost jagged wall, and they huddled near one of them as it radiated soothing warmth. Even baby Shixian quieted once she started feeding him.
Quion set up their camp, left snow in a pot to melt, and rummaged for dried meat in their combined supplies. He worked so tirelessly, even though she could see the lines of exhaustion in his face. Bingmei felt her own eyes grow heavy as her son’s face softened with contentment.
A loud thump sounded in the snow outside the cave’s entrance. Her instincts perked immediately, and the snow leopard rose to a protective crouch and growled. She hadn’t sensed a dragon approach, although she could feel them in the sky above. Had snow fallen from a tree outside the cave? Quion immediately gave off a sour smell of wilting flowers. Worry. Bingmei was still in the middle of feeding the baby.
“I’ll go check,” Quion said, grabbing the rune staff, which he’d laid nearby. He could summon its power, just as she could, but he wasn’t very proficient. The leopard’s gaze was fixed on the opening of the cave, its head hung low as if stalking an enemy.
Quion started toward the opening, and the leopard followed. Bingmei gazed at them, sniffing the air, but she smelled no emotions other than Quion’s fear and the baby’s blissful joy and appreciation. The smell of an infant was so pure and unsullied by other emotions. She knew when Shixian was hungry or uncomfortable just from the way he smelled, which helped her know how to soothe him.
Then a new scent wafted to her from the mouth of the cave: gratitude. Quion grinned as he stepped back into view, holding a dead hare by its long ears. “When I picked it up, I heard a snow owl hoot and then saw it fly away. It dropped this here for us.” She saw the leopard’s tongue swipe at its muzzle.
Bingmei offered a silent thanks to the phoenix for taking care of them during their escape. Quion quickly went to work with his skinning
