9
The team peered into the canopy above, munching on their petals. Their stomachs were already full – the jerky had made a good appetiser, and Fletcher had cooked some of the Catoblepas’s enormous bones over their small fire then cracked them open so they could eat the nutritious jelly of marrow within. He only wished they had some bread to eat it with – that was how he had eaten deer marrow when food was scarce in Pelt.
Their water had been replenished by a brief shower of rain that morning, which they had funnelled into their flasks by stretching the tanned Catoblepas’s skin and catching it. The liquid tasted smoky, but was far fresher than the water from the occasional puddle they had come across in the forest.
They had to put out the fire after their meal, for its smoke and smell might alert their hunters to their presence. Strangely, Fletcher had woken to find Ignatius curled up in the flames, slumbering among the glowing coals. Fletcher supposed that after swimming in molten lava, a fire must be child’s play, but he was concerned – Ignatius had never done that before. Othello’s voice broke into his thoughts.
‘We need a new scout, especially for when we get to the other side of the mountains,’ he argued, picking his teeth with a sharpened twig. ‘Athena can’t fly. Tosk or Ignatius might climb up one of the larger trees and get a look at the horizon, but we need to see what’s ahead.’
‘Lysander’s too large. He might be spotted,’ Sylva said quickly, but nobody was in disagreement.
‘We need a Mite,’ Cress mumbled, scraping the inside of a bone with her seax. ‘Or something like it.’
Fletcher knew they were right. They were nearly halfway through their supply of petals and the mountains were looming above them. Sheldon had not deviated from his path, but it would be best to know what awaited them at the foot of the range.
‘We should send the demons out to hunt on their own. They can avoid anything too big, but capture any small flying demons for one of us to harness,’ Fletcher said.
Then he realised that he, and Sylva for that matter, had no experience with hunting or capturing demons from the ether – Rook had never allowed the commoners to hunt during their first and only year at Vocans.
‘Did you do much hunting in the ether, Cress?’ Fletcher asked.
‘First years were banned from going into the ether when I joined,’ Cress said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Something to do with what happened to Captain Lovett. I was so happy with Tosk, I didn’t really mind. Othello did some though, being a second year.’
‘Aye, that I did,’ Othello said, scratching his head wistfully. ‘Solomon was bloody useless though. His great galumphing hands couldn’t hold on to anything small and he’s too slow and loud to catch much anyway.’
‘Well, I reckon all of us but Sylva might have a spare summoning level for a Mite,’ Fletcher said, grinning. ‘You might as well let Solomon stretch his legs, however useless he is; he’s been infused far too long.’
So, Solomon and Lysander were summoned and sent with the other demons to hunt in the woods, which were becoming thicker and more tropical with every step that Sheldon took. In fact, he was now forced off his straight path to follow a natural trail in the forest, so overgrown was the vegetation around them.
Soon they were seated in a circle, and Fletcher strapped on his scrying lens as the others stared at their crystals. Even Alice came to join them, though whether it was because of the smell of the meat or a desire to be close to them, Fletcher couldn’t tell.
Of all the demons, only Athena remained, nursing her broken wing while nestled in Alice’s lap. Both seemed contented to rest together, so Fletcher focused on his scrying crystal to watch Ignatius’s progress.
The Salamander was nimble in the forest, haring through the brambles and fallen logs with eyes to the sky. His excitement was infectious and Fletcher’s heart quickened with every leap that took Ignatius deeper into the woods, away from the crashing tumult that Lysander and Solomon inevitably made as they fought their way through the thickets.
Lesser Mites buzzed here and there, but Ignatius ignored them. They would not do for a summoner – taking up a whole fulfilment level like a Scarab Mite would, but lacking the mandibles, stinger and intelligence of their larger cousins.
Instead, Ignatius listened intently to the air around him. Fletcher knew that the Salamander could tell the difference between demons just by the frequency and timbre of wingbeats, his hundreds of years of hunting in the ether having finely attuned his senses. Still, nothing. The Will-o’-the-wisps had stripped the forest bare of all but the lowest demons in the food chain. The only other demon he saw was a single Coatl hanging from a branch above – a snake-like demon that was coated in the gaudy, layered feathers of an exotic bird. But it was far too slow and conspicuous to be of any use.
As they waited, Fletcher explored his demon’s mind, hoping to hear the sound of prey. But … there was something different about Ignatius – and Fletcher was really noticing it now, while focused so intently. The Salamander’s consciousness was larger in his mind. It even felt as if the levels of mana contained within the little demon had grown too. In fact, little was hardly a descriptor he should use, as he realised that Ignatius seemed to have grown since they had entered the ether. His weight had been noticeable when Fletcher carried him that morning, and his backside had hung from Fletcher’s shoulders.
A jolt of excitement flared in Ignatius’s consciousness, dragging Fletcher from his thoughts. The Salamander was at the base of a tree, crawling up the hoary bark with deliberate care. Above, the wingbeats of a new demon had caught his attention. Fletcher could hear them too, a dull throb in the air that intensified intermittently as the hidden demon flew to and fro.
Then he saw it, catching the iridescent gleam of its strange body. It was as if a winged lizard had been constructed from the body parts of insects. Its wings, though shaped like a Wyvern’s, were made from the same fragile material as a butterfly’s, with a webbed translucent patch in the centre surrounded by the vivid blue-green mix of a shallow lagoon. Its body was marbled with the same colour, and appeared much like a beetle’s carapace that segmented at the joints. There were only four legs, but each one was covered in the finest hairs and ended in a small-pronged claw. A tail with a tiny but potent sting on its end acted as a rudder and counterweight.
But the eyes … the eyes were the most insectile of all: black spheres made of thousands of smaller shapes, sitting beneath a pair of ant-like antennae. Only its mouth remained reptilian, revealing a long, chameleonic tongue that whipped out to snatch a Lesser Mite from the air.
It was a Pyrausta – so rare that there were no records of its capture, only scribbled descriptions from summoners who had recorded the infusion memories of their demons. It was a poor fighter, but it was known for two particular talents, which it demonstrated as it alighted on a large leaf near Ignatius to consume its prey.
Instantly, the body turned the same bright green as the leaf, blending in so perfectly that it even mimicked the veins beneath it. The Pyrausta gulped down the Mite with the help of its front claws.
Even as Fletcher squinted at his lens, its antennae twitched – then it was darting away in a sudden burst of speed. The antennae were its second unique skill, allowing it senses that other demons could only dream of.
Ignatius was already in midair, predicting the sudden movement. Even so, he barely managed to touch it with one claw, hooking into the tail and dragging it with him as he tumbled to the ground. It thudded beside him and immediately Ignatius had ensnared it with his own tail, holding it aloft with its wings and sting trapped by its side.
It was neatly done. Fletcher sent Ignatius a congratulatory pulse of pride and the Salamander yipped in excitement before scampering back towards the shell.
‘We’ve caught something,’ Fletcher announced. ‘Bring the hunters home, we’ve got a demon to harness.’