10
The Pyrausta had turned the same intense burgundy that coloured Ignatius’s skin by the time the Salamander arrived, victoriously holding his captive aloft. Already Othello’s summoning leather had been placed beside the fire, the only one they had left after the supplies had been lost in the swamp.
‘Bloody hell, a Pyrausta,’ Othello grumbled, a hint of jealousy in his voice. ‘That’ll do perfectly.’
Fletcher kneeled and rubbed Ignatius’s head, then stepped back and looked at his palm in astonishment. The Salamander’s skin was cool to the touch.
‘He’s cold,’ Fletcher said, furrowing his brow. ‘He’s never cold.’
‘Weird,’ Sylva said, crouching beside him. ‘May I?’
It was usually taboo to touch another summoner’s demon; at least, on purpose, anyway. Fletcher nodded and she stroked her hand along Ignatius’s spine. Fletcher felt an involuntary pulse of pleasure and his face blushed with heat. He turned away and busily tucked his leather jacket around his mother’s shoulders, hoping that Sylva wouldn’t notice.
‘That is strange,’ the elf murmured, straightening. ‘But lucky – it’s probably why he was able to capture the Pyrausta.’
‘What do you mean?’ Fletcher asked.
‘Well, most summoners theorise that Pyraustas are able to detect a great deal with their antennae. Heat is perhaps the most obvious indicator for them. Some say they can also feel the most minor air vibrations, even detect humidity. Most agree that their hearing, taste and smell is as good or better than a Canid’s. Ignatius’s heatless body must have confused it. I bet there aren’t many cold-blooded demons out here.’
Fletcher grinned and looked at the Pyrausta. A lucky catch indeed.
‘Do you think Ignatius is able to change his temperature at will, or was it something else?’ he asked.
Fletcher pondered Ignatius’s tail, which seemed even longer than before. Were his shoulder blades more prominent too, like Khan’s black Salamander’s had been?
‘Sylva, do you think he’s getting bigger?’
Sylva didn’t hear him, busy inspecting the beautiful Pyrausta demon. ‘Huh?’ she asked, looking up at Ignatius. ‘I suppose so. He did just have a big meal.’
Fletcher couldn’t understand. Perhaps it was a strange reaction to what had happened in the pit of lava beneath the pyramid. Or was it his return to the ether? Eating the flesh of a demon? There was so little known about Salamanders, it could be one or a combination of all factors.
‘Who’s harnessing it then?’ Cress asked eagerly.
‘Not me,’ Sylva said, tousling Lysander’s head. ‘This beautiful Griffin is a level ten. I doubt I have enough fulfilment levels left to capture a Pyrausta, however many levels it is.’
‘The species is level two, I reckon,’ Othello said, kneeling and inspecting the captured demon. ‘Maybe three. Who has fulfilment levels to spare? I checked myself on the fulfilmeter before the Tournament – I’m level fourteen now.’
‘I’m still ten – five left for me,’ Cress said, sounding hopeful.
‘Finders keepers, right, Fletcher?’ Sylva said, shaking her head.
But Fletcher was not so sure. Othello needed a demon like a Pyrausta, something fast and light and useful. Solomon, powerful though he was, was not a versatile demon. The Golem was a sledgehammer to the Pyrausta’s scalpel.
Othello was his best friend, his ally in all things. He owed the dwarf and his family so much. And what did Fletcher need with a Pyrausta? It was little use in battle with a weapon that appeared to be similar to a Mite’s sting, and Athena, though injured, was already a great scout. He didn’t need another. No. It had to be Othello.
‘It’s yours, Othello,’ Fletcher said, grinning. ‘You need it more than I do, and I don’t even know if my fulfilment level’s high enough anyway. I was nine last year and that’s all used up.’
‘I went up by three since then,’ Sylva interjected, exasperated at Fletcher’s generosity. ‘Othello’s gone up by four. Have a go.’
‘It’s all right, Sylva,’ Fletcher said. ‘He needs it. Solomon’s slower than a herd of turtles.’
‘You mean it?’ Othello said, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
‘Yeah, it’s yours. Go on, Ignatius will hold it over the pentacle for you.’
Othello needed no further persuasion, kneeling beside the pentacle and smiling ruefully as Cress moaned in jealous disgust.
‘I’ll gift it back to him later, if he changes his mind,’ Othello said, noticing Sylva’s raised eyebrows. Fletcher thought of another reason and spoke quickly before Sylva could say anything.
‘Now if we get split up, everyone will have demons that can fly or climb up high to find each other again. It makes sense.’
Sylva sighed and waved them on, shaking her head at Fletcher. She seemed disappointed in him somehow. Maybe he was being too nice, but he didn’t care.
Ignatius strutted proudly to the summoning leather and held the Pyrausta over it. A second later and the pentacle glowed violet as Othello powered it up. Capturing a demon was much like infusing one, only much harder. Holding it in place was usually the tricky part.
Othello’s jaws clenched and unclenched. A vein throbbed in his forehead and he allowed his breath to slowly whistle through his teeth as he strained, his stubby fingers pressing deep into the leather.
‘Go on, you can do it,’ Cress said, shuffling closer and peering at the Pyrausta. Slowly, ever so slowly, the demon began to dissolve into slivers of white light. Othello groaned aloud, his face flushing as he strained to harness the demon. Finally, when he had turned so red that Fletcher began to worry, the last of the translucent light disappeared into the mat.
Othello fell back, his chest heaving with exertion. Then a blissful look plastered across his face as the euphoria of infusing a new demon took hold of him.
‘Well done,’ Fletcher said, patting Othello on the shoulder. ‘You know, you’re the first of us that’s actually captured a wild demon.’
‘Half-captured, anyway,’ Sylva said, but she grudgingly gave Othello a smile.
It took a few moments for Othello to recover, and then the Pyrausta was summoned again. It sat in the centre of the mat as soon as it materialised, trembling.
‘It’s so weird,’ Othello murmured. ‘My mind feels so … full.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Fletcher said. ‘You’ll get used to it though. Do you think you can control it enough to send it scouting?’
‘Aye,’ Othello said, holding out a hand. The Pyrausta fluttered up and landed on his fingers, looking up at him with its strange eyes.
‘And it’s a she by the way,’ Othello continued, lifting the demon to his face and peering at it in wonder. ‘I’ll call her Pria.’