35
The group stared at the black stone in horror, holding their breaths. Lovett was clutching her tether with a white knuckled grip as the pentacle spat violet sparks, sizzling and smoking on the leather around them with the stench of burning hair.
The Oculus flickered into life. The image was fuzzy and unfocussed, but it panned slowly as Valens looked at the iridescent treetops above. The little demon was alive!
‘I was afraid of this,’ Lovett muttered. ‘This is the time of year that the Shrikes migrate across our hunting grounds. In previous years I would wait until next month to begin with your lesson in the ether, but with you first years taking part in the tournament I had to move it up. Damn Scipio and his rush to get you on the battlefield! In his day, there were five years of study before graduation. He should know better!’
She cursed long and hard, her tirade blacker than a Vesanian sailor’s. Fletcher’s ears reddened at her colourful language, but he smiled to himself. Lovett could swear with the best of them!
He tried to picture a Shrike from his studies, but could only remember that it was a dangerous, birdlike creature that visited Hominum’s hunting grounds in the ether seasonally.
‘The Shrike will be coming back, but I can feel Valens has hurt one of his wings. He’s going to have to race to the portal. There’s no way he can fight a Shrike; it is three classes above him. Maybe five if it’s the matriarch in their flock.’
The last sentence meant little to Fletcher, but he wondered what class ranking Ignatius would fall under. As the Mite buzzed into life and jerked into the air, his thoughts turned back to the task at hand.
The poor demon flew slowly, hampered by his injured wing. He skimmed over the barren desert, buffeted by the low winds that spun the dust across his vision. As the minutes ticked by excruciatingly slowly, Fletcher noticed something ahead of them. It was a shadow, though of what he was not certain.
‘There’s something above us,’ he said, pointing at the black shape on the stone.
‘I know. It has been with us since the forest. Shrikes like to injure their prey with a surprise attack, then follow the victim from above until it collapses from its wounds. It is an effective technique, but it will work to our advantage today. Wild demons have an almost instinctual fear of portals, so it is rare for one to come through unless we drag it in. If we can get Valens to return through the portal, the Shrike will leave him alone. Then I can infuse him, and he will heal just fine. I just hope he can make it,’ Lovett replied, pushing a sweaty strand of hair from out of her eyes.
Finally, the portal appeared on the horizon. It was not a moment too soon, for Valens’s flight was becoming jerky and the Oculus’s image was dimming with worrying frequency.
‘Just a little further,’ Lovett hissed, her brow furrowed in concentration.
But the Mite had gone as far as he could go. Valens tumbled to the ground a few feet from the portal, landing in a puff of dust. He lay motionless, the only sign he was still alive was the glow of the stone, still showing the plumes of dust as they twisted in the wind’s eddies.
‘Quick, get me the ether gear, now! It’s in the last cupboard on the far wall. I don’t know how long we have left!’
Seraph was the first to react, sprinting to the back of the room and heaving out a bulky package.
‘I need help, it’s heavy!’ he shouted. Othello hastened to his assistance and together they hauled it to Lovett. Fletcher continued to stare into the stone. The shadow had swooped by again.
‘Can’t I send Ignatius in to get him?’ Fletcher asked.
‘No, our manas would merge if your demon entered through my portal. Mixing manas is difficult to master. If you fail on the first attempt, the portal will close, and we will lose Valens for good.’
Lovett was struggling to get into what looked like a bulky one-piece suit. It was made of heavy leather with steel-capped boots at the bottom and a metal ring around the neck at the top. Once her feet were in, Lovett attached the long leather tether that powered the pentacle to another that extended from the back of her suit, several metres in length. There was a long, empty hose connected to a helmet on the floor, coiled in several loops.
‘Stretch my air pipe out, Seraph. I need a clear airway,’ Lovett demanded, lifting the helmet. As Seraph unravelled the hose, she clicked it into place above her neck.
‘It needs to be airtight!’ she shouted in a muffled voice. ‘The ether’s air is poisonous to us. If I get a hole in my suit, pull me out immediately using the tether, whether I have collected Valens or not!’
‘It’s just a Mite. Why risk your life for something you could capture another of tomorrow?’ Tarquin asked, his voice filled with scepticism.
Lovett turned towards him, her face barely visible. The helmet was made of copper, with a round pane of thick glass on the front. There was a cage built over the small window to keep it from shattering.
‘A demon is not an item to be tossed aside like an old shirt,’ she snapped. ‘When you have battled side by side with yours, maybe you’ll understand.’
With those parting words, she stepped into the portal.
They saw Lovett step out on the gemstone, a hazy brown figure swimming into Valens’s view. It was so strange, to see her move from the blue-tinged gloom of the summoning room to the scorching sky of the ether in just a few seconds. Yet there she was, stomping through the dust towards the Mite with slow, measured strides.
Soon her gloved hand scooped up Valens and brought the demon to the front of her helmet. They could see her grey eyes flashing through the glass with equal amounts of fear and concern, before she turned and trudged back to the portal.
‘Why is she moving so slowly?’ Genevieve whispered.
‘She’s wearing a heavy suit in a scorching desert whilst maintaining a portal to another world and controlling a dying demon simultaneously. It’s a miracle she is still standing at all,’ Tarquin said in a lofty tone. ‘If that portal closes she will be trapped there for as long as it takes for the poison to kill her after her air pipe gets snipped in two. Foolish woman.’
‘She’s going to make it,’ Fletcher murmured, willing her onwards as she took step after staggering step.
It was Othello who saw it first, a small black spot in the sky, growing larger by the second. He pointed at it with curiosity then wide-eyed horror as a feathered demon expanded into view. Lovett had seemingly noticed too, for her pace quickened and the pentacle crackled dangerously as her concentration slipped.
The Shrike was a giant bird with long black feathers. The wingspan was as wide as Fletcher was tall, the endmost feathers tipped with bleached white. Its lethal beak was hooked cruelly, with a bright red wattle underneath its neck and a red ridge along the top of its head like that of a rooster. It reminded Fletcher of an enormous, ugly vulture.
The bird demon dived towards Lovett, its bright orange talons outstretched. She ducked down, but it was too late; the talons scored along her helmet with brutal accuracy. They caught in the helmet’s cage, dragging her over on to her back. The hooked beak stabbed down again and again, yet all it did was dent the copper helmet.
‘Pull her in!’ Fletcher yelled. ‘She has Valens in her hand!’
He grabbed the tether and heaved, stretching the thick leather until it creaked under the strain. The others soon followed suit, even Isadora daintily clutched the lead and pulled with the others. They made fast progress, extracting several feet of it through the crackling portal. Fletcher glanced back at the scrying stone, but could only see flashes of feathers against the bronze sky as the demon continued to peck violently.
The strain on the leather lifted as Lovett managed to stumble to her feet, then she fell through the portal in a tangle of limbs. Even as the group began to cheer, their voices caught in their throats as realisation dawned. She was not alone.
The Shrike emitted a harsh caw, then spread its wings wide and stepped on to the ground, standing almost as tall as a man. It squinted its fierce yellow eyes in the dim light then advanced in a strange, hopping motion, like it was playing a macabre game of hopscotch. Lovett lay motionless on the ground – something was terribly wrong.
‘Stand back!’ Tarquin yelled, putting himself squarely in the Shrike’s way. Fletcher may have disliked the boy, but he was impressed. Tarquin had some courage.
The young noble kneeled quickly and put his hands on the ground, powering up the nearest pentacle. In moments a demon formed above it, then charged at the Shrike without hesitation.
Tarquin’s demon was a Hydra, with three reptilian heads on long, powerful necks, like a trio of snakes attached to the body of a monitor lizard. They weaved and snapped at the Shrike, darting this way and that as the bird demon was driven back towards the portal. They were well matched, since Tarquin’s demon was large enough to ride, though much of its height comprised of neck. The Hydra’s legs were short, but each foot was equipped with thick black claws that tore into the leather with every step.
‘Nothing can stand against Trebius!’ Tarquin yelled as the Shrike squawked with confusion at the three pronged attack.
Fletcher ignored the fight and circled around to Lovett. She must have been conscious, as the portal was still open, but her body was as still as a corpse. Valens was twitching in her open hand, buzzing as the Shrike battled Tarquin’s demon. The little Mite wanted to help, but did not have the strength.
‘I’ll get a teacher!’ Genevieve yelled, then ran out of the door.
Fletcher kneeled beside Lovett and dragged her out of harm’s way, then removed her helmet with care. His eyes widened at what he saw beneath. Her mouth was foaming with froth and both eyes were rolled so far back that all he could see was white. The poor woman’s head bounced punishingly on the leather as her body was wracked with convulsions. Fletcher had no idea how she was still holding the portal open.
‘The poison!’ Fletcher gasped with horror, trying to cushion the back of her skull with his hands. His eyes fell on the helmet and he saw a deep crack in the glass on the front. The Shrike’s claws must have damaged it in the first attack.
He turned to the bird demon in anger, watching as it stopped just a few feet from the portal. In such close proximity, the fear of the portal seemingly outweighed its fear of Trebius. The Shrike took a hesitant step forward and stabbed its beak at the nearest Hydra head, drawing blood and a cry of dismay from Tarquin. But the noble did not need to fight alone.
‘Ignatius!’ Fletcher yelled, powering up the pentacle nearest to him and summoning his demon with an angry blast of mana. The Salamander formed in but a moment, then leaped into the fray with a screech.
Despite the fact that the Shrike was many times his size, Ignatius bit into the bird demon’s leg, stabbing it repeatedly with his tail spike. The Shrike squawked with pain and alarm, losing its footing and falling back towards the pentacle. The Hydra took the opportunity without hesitation, lumbering forward and sinking all three sets of fangs into the Shrike’s neck. The momentum took the demons, in a tangle of writhing claws and teeth, to the very edge of the portal, screeching and howling like banshees.
‘Now, Ignatius!’ Fletcher yelled, wary of the demons falling through the unstable portal and losing them all for good. The imp rolled away from the melee and blasted a plume of flame, scorching the air above Trebius and the Shrike. That was the last straw. The bird demon took one last swipe at the Hydra with its talons, then leaped back into the portal with a disappointed squawk, leaving Trebius snapping at thin air. Moments later the portal closed up, shrinking into nothingness. The wyrdlights soon followed suit, dissipating in threads of blue light, until the room was pitch black. Lovett gave a deep sigh, then her body relaxed. Fletcher was relieved to feel her chest continue to raggedly rise and fall.
The noviciates roared in triumph, but their happiness was short-lived as they heard Lovett’s choked breathing in the darkness. As Fletcher sat her up and rubbed her back, Tarquin’s voice echoed beside him.
‘You idiot, Fletcher! The Shrike was going to be my next demon!’
A wyrdlight flickered the room into light from Tarquin’s hand, then the boy pointed an angry finger at him.
‘You’re so worried about our stupid teacher. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget!’